Collection
by Stormy Grey Skies
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots. Most are BxJ, but not all. Some are about other characters, too. Basically a creative outlet. Rated M because I am hopelessly confused about ratings. Also just to be safe. Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse and rape, character-bashing, character deaths, gore
1. Complete

When we first met I was all innocence and naïveté, riding in on the magical horse of a new relationship, flushed cheeks and eyes blind to everything but what I wanted to see. Believing in fairy tales and princes and that Romeo and Juliet was a love story, in love with love itself. Not knowing the taste of bitter or even bittersweet.

I saw him, of course, but I never really _SAW_ him. I just glanced past with those eyes that hid behind a curtain of hair and rose colored glasses. He was there, tired and weary of the world, sticking with something comfortable and constant even though he knew the truth of it. Weathered and scarred he settled for something that he knew was a waste of himself.

He let himself become a tool that was kept in a darkened corner until it was decided that he be taken out and used, or played around with for a little while. Sometimes he would be a Ken doll, all fake smiles and dead eyes, perfect for dressing up and showing off. But he wasn't a Ken doll, and sometimes that would show. Under the pretense of an accident, a slip up, a fall off his pedestal, he would make the subtle protests that his true self demanded.

Whenever he just couldnt take the fake smiles and dead eyes he would jump off his pedestal and make his little protests. Of course, he could never draw them out for what they were. As soon as those precious moments were over he would climb back on his pedestal and under the old pretenses of being the weakest, when in reality he would feel the quiet hum of restless power and be pleased.

As much as I didn't see him, as blinded as I was by masochistic lions and Romeo and diamonds in a sunlit meadow, I noticed him. And through his dead eyes and fake smiles and long sleeves connected to the strings that he handed to his puppet master, I know he noticed me too. We noticed each other, but as blinded and weary as we were, the moments that should have meant the most were forgotten or lost in the dusty attics of our minds.

As much as he had his puppeteer whose only strings were those that he loaned out himself, he noticed my crushing side effects of lack of self esteem coupled with naïveté that some liked to call pretty things. He told me the one combination of letters and spaces that could unlock me and start my change, my metamorphosis, if that is how you'd like to think of it. You are worth it. And later he let me slip through his fingers because you only learn from your mistakes and plastic smiles melt in the heat.

As much as I saw my masochistic lion named Romeo through the flames in the abandoned ruins of my childhood, trying to be my sparkling knight in some twisted fairy tale, I noticed him destroying the real threat. I noticed his lack of weakness. I saw him without his shiny plastic coating and fancy preselected pedestal. To him, it was much too easy. I felt the hum of his power that sang a haunting but beautiful melody infused with hope and desire, and it ran through my veins and gave me peace. But by then my angsty martyr who forever wants what he can't obtain had sucked away the hum and the flames of my Phoenix and had taken some of my lifeblood away with it. While falling into the blackness I knew my first taste of bittersweet.

Wearing my rose colored glasses and distracted by sparkles and dazzlingly crooked grins, I crossed my a's and my b's and mistook my own desires and wishes. I assumed that forever meant happily ever after and that became my new goal, as misguided as I was. He was my first taste of love and even though I didn't even know him much my mind thought I did. Because he was perfect so everything perfect must be him.

I knew not that beauty and love lay in the small imperfections that only you know. That perfection is abstract and worthless and a grand dream that fools kill for.

But I know that now.

I had changed since the not-so-Ken spoke the key to the lock I had somehow managed to place upon myself, and it showed in the details. Old Me didn't like making a fuss out of my birthday, that's true, but she would also have been too shy to put up a fight at all. But I found myself irritated and protesting, however weakly. It was a start.

If I had paid more attention and peeked around the edges of the rose colored lens that was starting to crack in front of my eye, I would have SEEN instead of merely noticing the matching cracks in the perfect, flawless, dazzling facade of Edward Cullen. Instead I arrived at the event that really wasn't for me. I was an easy excuse for all the wrongs in that disturbingly pristine white house.

I had always secretly wanted to splatter paint across those spotless rooms and bring mud and dirt and life to the big house. To roll about on the perfectly ironed sheets and dance about pulling things off the shelves and throwing he untouched apples around just for good measure. To see how many could hit the glass wall before it shattered.

Maybe I would take Charlie's old baseball bat to the polished keys of that wretched piano and relish the dissonant sounds crashing together. Maybe I would hum the beautiful symphony of ugly destruction as I tore the pages out of priceless books and journals and scattered them for plant food. Maybe I would let those snotty flowers have one last meal before I stomped about on them and thrashed, too, for good measure.

Because I already had a mother and a father. And I loved them both. We were dysfunctional at best but they were mine and I was theirs and maybe I had forgotten that amidst pretty words and dazzling smiles, but playing pretend never lasts and that's what reality is for.

So maybe I was irritated because I didn't know I had been playing pretend and maybe I wanted just one drop of life to hit those pristine floors and maybe I forgot that as much as they pretended, they weren't human. Because playing pretend doesn't last forever and my masochistic martyr liked to pretend that he doesn't always want what he can't have.

In a brief moment his true colors showed and the half hearted excuses for all the wrong reasons faded and at once it was a beautiful relief and a horrible scene where I was swallowed whole by hungry pits.

Oddly I felt nothing, none of the fear that usually comes with a missed beat, a wrong note, a turn too many. I looked past the rose tinted shards at my feet and for a brief moment, faster than should have been possible I turned. My eyes met his and I SAW him.

I wanted to keep staring until we locked eyes and something clicked but there would never be enough time and the pits were close to swallowing me up. I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding and I blinked.

Blink and you'll miss it, my mom says.

But I didn't miss it entirely, because he was the key to my lock and I was the heat to his plastic smiles and dead eyes and the hum of power sang a haunting melody, thrumming as it got to come out and play, if only for too little.

But piano boy felt it too, and his instincts told him to defend his prey. Of course it wouldn't have mattered but the breath that I released had been a big mistake. It had startled him just enough to realize how Carlisle Cullen would react to his draining the supposed love of his life in such a way.

And the first thing he saw was someone he thought was weak, much weaker than the great Edward Cullen, and his inflated ego made him jump back onto shore just enough to push everything onto my key.

He was strong and fought it, but he was already feeling everyone else's hunger and I was Edward's singer. It made him pause just long enough to make sure I was alright. Edward took advantage of his concern for me and pushed me backwards. Into a conveniently placed assortment of glass. I instantly knew that the puppeteer had placed it there in a last minute attempt at controlling something that wasn't here to begin with. I knew that with the same certainty that I knew what was happening even though I was still mid blink.

I could almost hear everyone else stop the habit of breathing in preparation and I felt that the world and time and space stopped for just a fraction of a second before I hit the glass. Emmett had come to his senses just enough to misinterpret the scene. The others saw what they wanted to see. Although Rosalie knew that not everything was as it seemed, she went along. Because she knew how everyone but Emmett and my key saw her, and she would have only made it worse.

Then the world unfroze and tiny daggers lodged themselves in my skin. He was restrained by my well meaning pseudo-brother and the others. He only wanted to make sure I was safe and so closed his eyes and forced the bloodlust from the room and my attacker. He forced it inside himself and, eyes never leaving me, allowed himself to be towed out of the room. I could almost hear the mental threats he was most likely shouting at the martyr for all the wrong reasons and the spoiled teenager who always wanted what he could not have.

That left just me and Dr. Fang himself, the best pretender of them all. He patched me up in an attempt at prolonging the play. But I had already thrown away my lines and stomped them into the ground. The pages flew about like white doves looking for freedom and fluttered to be ground like all the pieces of my heart.

Because I knew what would happen next, as much as my mind tried to cover it in a thick blanket of denial.

He left. Which was okay because I had already SEEN, and shattered my rose colored glasses and torn away the gossamer veil of naïveté and I was becoming something else, metaphorically, of course.

But he took away my pseudo brother and the broken ice princess who saw too much and too little all at once and the Major who let himself become a Ken doll because he was weary of the world.

Of course nobody could physically FORCE him away, but although he had noticed me and saved me and unlocked me, he hadn't SEEN me. Not yet.

So he would begrudgingly follow along, all plastic smiles and dead eyes and strings that he loaned to the puppeteer who thought nobody saw.

But I had seen.  
And I saw still.

The process isn't instant, it isn't like imprinting. Step one, SEE. Check. Before that, you notice. You can't help it. You just do, no matter how weary or naive or distracted. You feel the all consuming drive to protect, if red flags and danger signs ever go up. But after, you feel something else. A sort of attachment that is but isn't really there. Until you both SEE and acknowledge that something is happening.

Then something else happens and a million titanium reinforcements form something else, a Something that just can't be put out into words, a bond of multicolored pulses and you know. You know without having to print out a shiny label and peel it back and smooth it on. You just Know. True mates. Of course, I didn't know this, not then.

No, because all I knew was that I had just started realizing something vital and beautiful and not at all the boy who wants what he can't have or the greatest pretender of them all or the one forever looking for a replacement for something that needed to be let go. It had a little to do with them all, but not nearly enough and way too much at the same time. And of course the puppet master whose strings were borrowed and leased and signed over temporarily on a limited contract. And all that had shattered like delicate spun glass that hadn't yet had the chance to be something.

Their perfume was addicting, he had all but said as much. Later on after my rise from the ashes was more complete I would realize that he and his so called parents and the one he called sister pixie in some sort of weird twisted form of affection in a grand delusion, they had all used this to their advantage. Dazzling, I had called it, with my reoccurring rosy cheeks and veil over my eyes. And it was addicting. Literally. And _he_ had called _ME_ _his_ heroin.

Like any normal addiction, once the source was taken away abruptly, withdrawal shows its ugly face. I didn't realize what it was and let it manifest, untreated, infecting other parts of my life until Charlie, poor Charlie, just couldn't take it anymore. My mother, the flighty sparrow from everywhere stopped in for a short rest from her epic flight around the world, and brought Phil. Phil was not Charlie but he was important in my life. I finally realized that the ugly cancer was affecting everything else and I realized that I was a recovering addict. I needed help, but I was never normal and couldn't get normal help.

So in comes my childhood friend, mud pies and sunny smiles grown up but not quite. Like the addict I was, I saw him as sunshine when in reality he was just a replacement drug. Methadone. I soaked it all in, though, greedy as I am, and he gladly indulged me because of misleading and confusion and hormones. When it was time for my mother sparrow and her important Phil to leave, they left happy, seeing my progress.

Although in reality it was just a replacement drug, it made everyone happy and okay for a while. I had enough sense, at least, to tell her of my love for her, and him of my affection and value. They hugged me and left in a flurry of smiles and kisses on the cheek and the sparkle in Charlie's eye because he had never moved on, not really. But he accepted the reality, and so gave Phil heartfelt smiles and a warm handshake with a pat on the back. Phil was grateful, and nodded and smiled, no plastic involved. I ignored the pang I felt and the brief memory of my key with his plastic all melted in the heat.

We were happy, Charlie and I, and we shared smiles and basked in the warmth of the glow that didn't need to be spoken, all the way home.

But then tragedy struck, as tragedy does. Because life is full of ups and downs and happy endings only depend on where you stop the story. The giant metal bird had fallen, and my mother sparrow and her Phil had fallen with it. I was in shock and Charlie didn't really comprehend it. The loss of her glow and the world was the same, but ours weren't. She didn't want a funeral, she wanted to be scattered across the desert, because she was flighty, even in death. He was just happy to go wherever she did. She didn't want anyone to be sad, but you can never really...not be.

Charlie and I eventually moved on, leaning mostly on each other. I saw him cry for the very first time and no girl ever wants to see her daddy cry. But we broke down together and cried ourselves out and fell asleep with tears ruining our clothing.

I had some issues with my replacement drug, but they were resolved, and really, I should have known.

Charlie found Sue, and I was happy for him. I had since gotten over my original drug, and was content. The fire haired threat had been eliminated, finally, and so had her companion Laurent. I had a new half sister and half brother, and I had grown and matured. I even weaned myself off my replacement drug. He was now my sunny soon-to-be brother in law, and Leah's personal sun. I happily handed him over, and enjoyed his happiness and her happiness and the pack's happiness. Even Paul, all hotheaded and rash got over his shit and found an imprint and was happy, after all the drama had subsided. I was good friends with everyone and I was finally happy too.

But something was missing.

Something had been missing for roughly three years. Three years full of drama and heartbreak and loss, but also full of happiness and healing and beauty.

My key.

Except the world is a big place with a large population, and they were good at disappearing. I knew somehow that when the time was right we would see each other. This time without the rose colored glasses and veil of naïveté and doe eyes paired with flushed cheeks and the constant star of bedazzlement. Without the weary tiredness of the world and the loaned out strings and quiet rebellions and pedestal, without the Cullens and without their script. Just us.

And he would SEE me, and I would SEE him, and something that we have known all along but never known will snap into place. I would melt any leftover plastic and see the life in his eyes and he would complete my transformation. And I would rise from the flames and we would just BE.

So I said my see you's and I'll call you's and set out for the sunset, hoping to be swallowed by its heat, and be reborn.

Without the cumbersome veil in my eyes I was a lot more street smart, though I hadn't even given a thought to college. I handled myself a lot better and became independent. I let my unique sense of humor come out, instead of suppressing it and BREATHED.

I met Peter and Charlotte and we bonded right away. We met at a supermarket, in the produce section. He was staring at the grapefruits with the strangest expression on his face and slowly picked two up, held them in front of him, and sniffed them cautiously. I let out a snide laugh while still picking out the perfect oranges, and made some sarcastic comment that involved him being a vampire, and he turned to look at me and then wordlessly placed the grapefruits in my cart. We had been as good as family ever since.

Charlotte and I also clicked right away, and frankly, terrorized Peter. She was family to me, too, and they taught me the Whitlock salute, which I thought was hilariously crude.

The second week of knowing them, I got a phone call. All of those deep fried dinners at the local diner had finally gotten to Charlie's heart. I cried my eyes out while Charlotte stroked my hair and cooed in my ear. Peter left and came back with his truck full of my stuff. I didn't ask how he knew where I lived, and he patted my back and offered me small smiles and comforting jokes.

He just knew shit. Like how to help me recover from losing my daddy. Him and Charlotte became something even more family than family. They drove me up to see my daddy be lowered into the ground, and almost everyone in town and a good portion of the Rez came. He was the Chief of Police after all, and a pretty well loved and admired guy. Honorary brother of Billy Black, a constant in everyone's life.

I stayed for a little longer and cried with my family, but I had to get back to Texas. There was something about that state that healed and comforted me, and I missed that.

One year later and I had completed all those textbook stages of grief. I looked back on my memories of my mother sparrow and Phil and Charlie and I could smile, if somewhat sadly. You don't get over these types of things, but I was as close to it as I could be.

I just needed my key.

The week of my twenty third birthday, two years younger than his physical age, he finally came. I had just missed him as he left Peter and Charlotte for a year long sabbatical of sorts and he was surprised to see me. Peter just smiled in that annoying knowing way of his, and Charlotte winked.

Seeing him without his plastic coating was much better and I knew. I KNEW. He finally saw me, the new me, and he SAW ME. And it clicked, and I knew he KNEW, too.

I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt and he swept me off my feet and all those romantic cliches were not far off from the truth. Completeness and relief, and love. The lows of life were less deep and more cushioned because now we had each other. Two halves of a whole and all that.

We belonged to each other and we loved it, we loved EACH OTHER. My brother bear and his now-fixed princess came for a visit and we got to see the better versions of ourselves. Last they heard, the biggest pretender of them all and his followers were still pretending. We were so happy it was stupid and I looked around and loved reality for the first time in a long time.

I rose from my flames and became what I was meant to be and the reality became even better. I felt somehow more alive, even though technically I was dead. My shield had changed and improved and strengthened and given me the ability to sponge. I could absorb and duplicate any enemy's gifts, and I loved that I could effectively protect my family. Because we were family, a real one. Not the kind with scripts and backstabbing and manipulation, not even blood, but family.

And I was finally complete.


	2. Poison and Dynamite

She fought like a demon, a poisonous whirlwind on the battlefield. Her strikes fast and efficient, accurate and precise. Her moves were methodical but fluid, seemingly effortless and faster than a snake bite. Venom spilled almost instantly, as soon as she looked in your direction, and limbs found themselves detached from their owners too quick to comprehend, flurries of movement, blurs even to our eyes. The ground quickly became saturated with pools of venom, the remaining survivors turning to flee but never getting the chance. Her eyes were pitch black, burning with untold horrors and flames of darkness and eradication, casualty, loss, and your ruination. Annihilation and termination blending together to follow in her footsteps as she reinforced mortality, imposing dissolution to those that thought themselves invincible. Living mortality, she snuffed out the short burning flames of existence en mass, cold, deadly, scarily absolute. The essence of all your worse nightmares somehow made so much more, mixed together with abominations beyond imagination.

He went off like a bomb, explosive and fast and seemingly just barely contained. His strikes were hard and fast, out of nowhere but dead on. His moves were efficient and violent, but flowed with an undercurrent of pure, raw power. He was the purest example of deadly, fear piercing the hearts of those unlucky enough to oppose him. Many tried to run but in a more than futile attempt as his wrath was delivered swiftly and surely. He was rough and fluid and death incarnate all in one and any doubt that ever was about his titles, any errant thoughts that the stories were exaggerated even a little was erased as he wiped out too many to keep track, in the most effective, fear-inducing ways. Bringer of Death, God of War, Ares Embodied, One Man Army, and many more, none truly doing him justice, yet rightly his all the same. If she was horror than he was terror, singing through them like raging fire, irony that was not lost on me. Dread stretched out in front of him as the saner ones threw themselves into the fire to avoid this hellion riding in on limbs and venom as havoc and annihilation crashed in his wake. The epitome of all that was feared and so much more awful, taking out all he could reach then moving on to the next batch.

Together, they were a sight to behold and a major problem to the enemy. They worked together perfectly, their styles meshing as one, leaving death and destruction in their wake. They were better than words can describe, flowing together in a deadly concoction of cyanide and dynamite that left their opponent with a snowball's chance in hell. Probably even less. They were a match made in heaven and hell burning through the ranks with deadly skill, god-given and perfectly honed to a point. Dreadful yet strangely spectacular, too exceptionally marvelous and intimidatingly, strikingly, daunting to be true. And yet, there they were, proof to the eyes of anybody fortunate enough to call them comrades in arms, allies. Or even those that just happened to be fighting a common enemy.

It was beauty and it was horrid, and everything in between. In short, it was truly awesome, a walking contradiction. Only, not walking, but living. And because of that, a haze of death descended immediately on our makeshift battlefield.

Watching this amazing show of pure power and dexterity with a bit of fear-inducing prowess at the most elegant form of violence, I found myself awestruck. So much death and gore and yet it was like an art or ancient dance, a horrifying but captivating vision of venom and limbs. In that moment, I could only pause and stare in pure humility as we saw them in their true element, and were forced to rethink all our previous judgements and opinions. Only one coherent thought ran through my mind, the rest a buzz of astonishment and newfound respect. Thank god they're on our side.


	3. Blown Away, or, Rosalie Modernized

**Blown away**

**(Yes, this is inspired by the song)**

"You smell so good tonight, Caroline." The drunkenly slurred words shot slivers of fear straight to my heart. Oh God, no. Not tonight. I'd wondered which version of him I'd get tonight. I'd have taken anything over this...

My daddy mistook me for my mama sometimes...we did look awfully alike. Same blonde curls, same blue eyes. The liquor didn't help none, either. I closed my eyes and prayed to my mama, angel that she is - up in the sky, that he'd pass out or somethin'. It always started like this...and it never ended well.

Ever since my mama died, he took to blamin' me. If you ask me, he just needs to blame _somethin'. _Somethin' that wasn't him. And, I guess, it was kinda my fault. She died tryin' 'ta save me. But she died because of his drinkin' and his outta-control car, and I never forgave him for that; I never will, just like he won't ever forgive me. The beatings and words of hate, I could handle, but this? Oh, God, please.

Now, I pride myself on bein' tough as steel, but this...what kinda father does that to his child? Every time those cold eyes met mine, I found myself a disgustin', sobbin' mess on the floor.

"No! No it's me! It's me, Rosalie! Please don't!" I was beggin' now, tears falling down my cheeks. I knew it wasn't gonna be no use. It never was, but I never stopped pleadin'. "Please, don't do this," I whispered brokenly through cracked lips. I braced myself.

We lived too far away for the neighbors to hear me scream. And I guess that was just his luck, 'cuz when he got wasted like this...the beatings, I could take. I even got used to 'em, an' I'd be damned if I'd shed a tear ever since my ninth birthday. But that damn summer back in seventh grade made that all change. My stupid body started developin', an', as always, I take after my mama. My mama was beautiful, a knockout, a bombshell. I should be happy to have that part o' her with me, 'specially 'cause all them other girls're jealous. If they knew what unspeakable sins went on in this house, I bet they'd be glad.

I hate that I'm too weak. Too weak to stand up for myself like my mama taught me, too weak to fight him off. He was strong from all his work in the mine. I was just a little girl, after all. Damned biology. Please, Lord, not tonight, not ever again.

Why, Lord, did you not make him step up when he should have? What kinda father...violates...his own girl? I cursed him, I cursed myself, I cursed the heavens; I cursed anythin' and anyone but I couldn't bring myself to curse my mama for dyin' and savin' me in the first place. So when there weren't anyone left, I shut myself in my mind and forced myself away from reality. My ears didn't hear none o' my sobs, I didn't see no belt bein' undone. I went off to my best memories, when my mama was still alive. She was so warm, an' soft, an' kind...why did she ever marry a man like my daddy? I went numb; my body limp as a rag an' just as pathetic.

When I came back, he was out cold on the couch. As always, an empty whiskey bottle dangled from his hand. I wiped away them damn tears an' sat up as fast as I could when I was sore all over. I cursed myself all over again as I pulled what was left of my shirt over my body. It hurt just movin'. I was most definitely goin' have to cover some new bruises in the mornin'... I'd been ruined long ago (what man would want these damaged goods?) but I swear, it was like it got worse every time. I looked around at the mess. _At least he had the presence of mind to use a damned condom_. It was carelessly thrown aside, a disgustin' reminder of what he did to me. I sat there, listenin' to the old TV set dronin' quietly 'bout some twister warnin' over the next few days. I didn't really hear it - I was busy tryin' to force those memories outta my head.

I was shakin'.

I made myself get on with my life. I sniffled, wiped away the last of those tears an' went to take a shower. I felt dirty, slimy, like it was under my skin. I scrubbed hard as I could at myself with my bare hands, tryin' to wash the last seven years down the drain. I heard the wind an' the rain pickin' up outside that godforsaken house as the water turned cold over my back.

_Almost eighteen, remember that, Rose. Almost free. Almost outta here so fast you'll make their heads spin._

I lay my head against the wall an' took a moment to catch my breath.

_Keep movin', Rose. Don't you dare slow down. You know what'll happen, and you don't need any more pain._

I found the baggiest clothes I had - that weren't _his _ - and hid myself away in them. I wished I could maybe just blow away with the wind, outta this tiny little town. Maybe find my way to a big city; one o' those where I could get lost in all the bodies and my daddy couldn't find me no matter how hard he looked.

I lay down, mind caught up in dreams of the future. Maybe if I was lucky, I'd fall asleep an' dream about it, instead of those wretched nightmares I usually got. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was where I'd find peace.

I was just about out when that damn train came barrelin' on by, shakin' the walls an' startin' me back wide awake. I cursed it. Why won't it just shut up? Beatin' on 'em iron tracks an' screamin' out that stupid whistle. Congratulations, train, I ain't goin' be able to sleep no more. Ruin' some more peace, will ya?

I heard shufflin' out in the livin' room, and I froze. Every muscle in my body was all tense, my breath got stuck in my throat on the way out. Sometimes, he' come outta unconsciousness just long enough to do some more damage. Hadn't I already suffered enough today? The old clock my mama's mama passed down to her ticked loudly in the hall; my heart was poundin' double time and all I could focus on was how annoyin' that tick-tock was. One hundred forty tick-tocks later, I didn't hear nothin' from my old man's direction. My stupid self was too curious for my own good, so I carefully crawled up on outta bed and snuck back in the livin' room.

I peeked through the doorway to see if he was still out cold. He was. I let out my breath. Guess I wasn't that unlucky today after all. He let out a loud snore. I was tempted to kill the bastard while he slept.

_No, Rose. You know you ain't goin' be goin' to no big city if you get thrown in damn jail for murderin' your papa. _

I sighed an' turned to go back to sleep when I heard the tornado alert goin' off on the TV. I panicked an' ran for it, jammin' the mute button an' turnin' to see if it'd waken my tormentor.

Thank God for whatever the hell he drank to keep him out cold through that.

I looked on the screen, wonderin' if I was goin' have to take cover. Somewhere in the back of my head I wondered if I should wake my daddy. The red alert bars were there, scrollin' text on through 'em. I couldn't hear it, but I knew that voice from the test drills, an' it was enough to send shivers down your spine and worry in your gut.

"**_The National Weather Service has issued a Tornado Warning for...Western Cangelica county...until 345 CDT. At 1051 CDT...trained weather spotters reported a developing tornado near New Belalice...or seven miles west of Jemmet. Doppler radar shows this dangerous threat moving North at 75 MPH. Locations impacted include...New Belalice. If you are in an area affected, please take cover now. I repeat, TAKE COVER NOW. Move to an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. Avoid windows. If in a mobile home...a vehicle or outdoors...move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris."_**

I only took my eyes off'a that screen when it started scrollin' through the message a second time. My heart was back up in my throat. I knew I had 'ta take action now; it looked like a twister was really gonna hit, and from the maps the scared weatherman was showin' now, we were right in the path.

With any luck, that twister'd pass right over...my eyes snapped over to my daddy, scratchin' his belly in his sleep. They only left after he'd stopped movin'. My eyes hardened. After all that'd been happenin' in this here house, maybe it'd do it some good to get a new start. Didn't the pig ever think I was too young to be messed with? What happened to his smilin' face callin' me his beautiful, precious little baby girl?

I knew exactly what happened. Mama's death, his gamblin', his drinkin'. Wherever that lovin' father was, I knew it was ages away from right here, right now.

My heart sent a burst o' flames out through my body.

With any luck, that twister'd blow this house right outta the state.

I could feel it comin' in my bones. I gathered up some supplies like I'd been taught, an' grabbed my few belongin's on the way down. I made sure to take Mama's most precious keepsakes. Wouldn't want them gettin' picked up an' thrown away. I tossed everythin' in her old beach bag an' stole all the money we had in the house. I was surprised we even had four hundred to our name. The bastard couldn't keep funds for nothin'.

I tugged on an old jacket that smelt kinda like her perfume an' picked up the bag. I was ready. I looked around one last time. There was nothin' in my heart for that house, not anymore. I realized that all those happy memories of 'before' were cancelled out by all the 'after'. I didn't care about one thing left in there, especially not the bastard sprawled out on the couch.

I ran out into the rain. It felt excitin', like I was bein' reborn. I knew there wasn't enough rain in all of Oklahoma to wash everythin' away, but a girl can dream, can't she? I let it wash over me, feelin' the new start down to the tips of my toes.

I felt everythin' go still. Scarily still. I beelined right to the doors of Mama's old cellar at the side of the house. I yanked the doors open after a couple of tries, an', ignorin' the pain now everywhere in my body, I stepped on in among all of her old canned fruits an' jams. Nobody's come down here since she left, an' it was strange, bein' there. I shook it off an' pulled the doors back down. It was dark. Real dark. I didn't like it. It brought back too many tear-stained, whiskey-soaked memories o' slammin' doors an' harsh punches.

I closed my eyes. It was still dark, but the back o' my eyelids was more familiar. I heard the train call out again in the distance, fadin' out in another direction. Tried not to think of what I'd do after the storm.

Let myself think of my revenge, instead. It was beautiful; nails rippin' out, windows shatterin', every damn brick an' board torn apart an' scattered in that dead grass. Nothin' would be standin', nothin' left of yesterday, the day b'fore that, or all the days b'fore _that._ Maybe it'd be true.

But oh, Lord, how much I wanted it to be true. I could see him; wakin' up all confused an' the fear in his eyes when he realized I left him there to die. Maybe he'd finally feel a bit of what he put me through night after damn night. 'Cause runnin' out here...it wasn't just takin' shelter. I _was _leavin' him to die, and God, I hoped he did. I could see him, panickin' an' tryin' to get up off that couch. Seein' the twister comin' right at him an' not bein' able to do a damn thing about it.

Then he'd just get...blown away.

Blown away like he'd never even fuckin' existed.

I leaned my head back, feelin' the smoothness of one o' Mama's jars. Watchin' him gettin' sucked out a window behind my eyelids, I smiled - for the first time in way too damn long - an' I laughed.

Blown away.


	4. Love Story

**AN/: Okay, okay. I know this has been overdone. I used to be really interested in Taylor Swift's music, but I've fallen out of it until, I guess, now. I had an idea, inspired by this song, even though it's cheesy and stupid; I just had to write it. However, I like to think that this is a slightly different angle, and of course this is about Jasper.**

**Sorry. Enough with my babbling! This is why I usually don't put an AN at the beginning. See all this scrolling past you're having to do? Well, I guess you aren't reading this, anyways, so…onwards!**

**Bella POV**

They tell me I'm mental. Okay, maybe not those exact words, but still. I can never really remember what they call this, but basically I have trouble communicating with others. Not in the normal way, I mean, I can speak. But I guess sometimes I use bits and pieces from the stuff I like to read. Especially _Romeo and Juliet_, which is my favorite. Like, I'll use names or phrases, or passages from the play without knowing it. It's not really crazy, but it's just crazy enough that I get weird looks and people stay away from me. Which is fine enough to me.

Right now, I seem normal, but that's because you're in my head. I guess, it's kind of like that. I mean, I'm writing down my memories. And my memories are in my head, how I perceived them. And in my head, I can talk normally.

Or…think normally, I guess. Oh, yeah, that's another thing. My thoughts narrate like I'm in a book. Usually they stay normal, but sometimes they sound like I'm in my favorite writings, too. I think it's similar to having a voice in your head and talking to it, only you stay silent. Except if you lapsed into random storytelling stuff. I interpret the scene differently, too, so everybody turns all fancy and dressed in the time of the Bard, although the dialogue is usually only semi-Shakespearian.

I can still usually remain mostly sane, though, so I know that what I'm thinking isn't reality. If at all. I'm not actually aware of this when it happens; I thought everybody was like this, so I'm not sure. So, I don't know if you're real or not, but I guess that's why the kids at school say I'm crazy. I don't know how to explain my crazy; it's just the way it is. I mean, I'm not a danger to myself or others, so I still go to school. I just keep to myself, and the teachers try to go along with it as best they can. Which is nice of them. But I'm still the crazy girl.

As a result, I don't really have what you would call friends. There are people who feel sorry for me, but I hate that. They try to be nice, but it just feels like charity and I start getting awkward and agitated. Which then sets off an 'episode', as my shrink likes to call them, and then they feel awkward, and nobody is happy.

I haven't even _tried_ talking with the kids from the other school. I don't need more people calling me weird.

The thing I said earlier? About the kids who feel sorry for me? Yeah, one of them invited me to a party earlier. I just shrugged, not wanting to speak and accidentally 'episode'. But they gave me a flier, anyways. A flier. Must be fancy. I probably won't go. I'm not good at the whole social thing. What with my crazy, and all. It was one of the more popular girls, I think her name is Amber, but I'm not too sure. Like I said, I'm not good at the whole social thing.

But, it's Friday. Which means I get two whole days of not being called names by those jerks. Not all my classmates are jerks, of course, but the ones that are, are jerkish enough to make me relieved every time it's the weekend. I finished my homework, too, so that means more time to relax.

Or not. My dad, Charlie saw the flier. This can't be good. He's always trying to get me to make a friend and socialize.

"Come on, Bella. It would be a good opportunity to make friends." Just as expected. I eventually cave in, if just to please him. I put enough stress on him as is, plus he's the Chief of Police, so that's some more right there. I can tell he's happy, because his mustache twitches with delight. We eat. I decide that if I have to go, I might as well go all out. Which means getting ready like a normal teenage girl. I pick out the clothes that are the most like what other girls wear, because I have no idea what to do. This is a new thing for me, and 25% of the time everybody is in formal ball gowns and fancy suit-things to me, anyways. Such a weird type of crazy to have, huh? My thoughts are a little disjointed, but I like to think that I think mostly similar to how a normal person thinks.

But I wouldn't know. Do normal people think like I think? Now even I am confused.

When I get there, everybody is focused enough on themselves and the music, dancing, punch, and socialness that they don't notice me. Which is how I prefer it. The smell of that many sweaty bodies all dancing together and crammed in one place gets to me, and the scene starts to shift between normal and a _fancy Shakespearian ball room_. I need to get some air.

_By the time I make it onto the patio, it's too late. I'm on a balcony, fancy wrought-iron railing and all. I close my eyes, but it's all still there when I open them._

_I look around, see the lights, the party, but now with ball gowns, and sigh. They're all doing some sort of old-timey dance that I probably conjured up in my mind; cobbled together with descriptions from different texts. I turn back to my balcony, and look out. By the time I look back, I'm the only one out here._

The scene shifts back into real world, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It's easier to try to go back when I'm calm.

Through the crowd that's undulating to the bass in some kind of pack-mind dance, I see a boy I don't recognize. Which means he must be from the other school. I accidentally stare a beat too long, and we make eye contact. He was headed out, to where I am, so now it's awkward, but I don't know if I should look away or wait and then try to make a joke about it when he gets here. By the time I decide to look away, it's too late, and he's almost directly in front of me.

So, I try to go for the joke, but it sounds like this: "Yeah, isn't it awkward when you accidentally make eye contact…I mean, just looking at the crowd, and then…well…yeah." Which, correct me if I'm wrong, means it was an epic fail.

He smiled anyway, and says hello. I smile nervously back, and _that's when the scene shifts again. I try to disguise the fact, apparently pretty well. Because he-I try not to think of him as Romeo, keep my thoughts both realistic and real world oriented-asks me to dance. I hide my panic that I'll accidentally start doing the waltz of my mind, and accept. He's handsome, and I should at least get one dance with Romeo, right?_

When it shifts back, I'm relieved to find I'm dancing just like everybody else. His name is Jasper, not _Romeo_, but he's still handsome. And now, I find he's charming and witty, too. I like him. I hope he likes me, but who am I kidding. I'm crazy. Right now he doesn't know, but when he does, there's no way he'll be _Romeo_ again. Besides, in the real world, it doesn't work like that. I'm not _Juliet_, and his name is Jasper. But Jasper is a good name, too, and I like it like I like him. Which is dangerous, because I don't want to start referring to _Romeo and Jasper like they're one and the same. But aren't they?_ Oh no. That's not good. I hide this all under a sunny smile and hope for the best.

_The next night, he throws pebbles at my window_.

I mean, he calls me. We have a nice conversation, and he asks me out.

_The thought of_ _courtship_-I mean dating-_is new, but I find I like the scenarios I imagine with him._ _I accept,_ and we go to the movies.

I found myself liking him even more.

Charlie asks who I've stayed up late talking to all week, where was I last night? Did I make a new friend?

I think, and just say that it's a boy named Jasper.

He looks cautious, but doesn't comment further. Until a while in, when I bring him to meet my dad. That's what normal girlfriends do with their boyfriends, right? When they love each other? Jasper and I love each other. We love each other so much, it's almost like the kind of love you only hear about in love stories. That was a joke of ours, especially because _he was my Romeo, and I was his Juliet._

My dad asks me to leave. Not straight out, but I get the hint. I listen in, anyways, and I hear him warn him of my crazy.

"_You should stay away from Juliet," is what I hear. I try to keep down my feelings and maybe go back to the real world. But it doesn't work._

_After what I hear, I sit on the grand spiral staircase and cry. When Romeo comes past, I beg him not to go. Please don't go. I know you know that I have a special brand of crazy, but please don't leave me, Romeo._

Before this, he probably suspected, noticing

I was weird, seeing the difference between me, and normal girls. But now he knew. And I knew that he knew so I didn't want him to go. _I didn't want Romeo to go._

"_Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all we have to do is run, you'll be the prince, and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say yes." I plead. He does something I don't expect. He_ smiles.

I calm myself down, return to reality. We take the opportunity to sit and talk. I explain, best I can, and he tells me to plan on outside the library for our next date. There's this courtyard that's always open, and is basically a large untamed garden. I grin, even when he's leaving, because I know he isn't really leaving.

My dad doesn't approve when I tell him we're still going to be seeing each other.

"Bella," he says gruffly, "are you sure this is the best thing for you? You know you're my daughter and I don't want you dating anyways, but with your condition…and this Jasper kid, I know him. He goes to the other school, and he's a real troublemaker. I just don't think he's the best guy for you."

But what I hear is, _"He isn't Romeo." But he's wrong. Because he is Romeo. My Romeo._

_So, I sneak out to the gardens to see my Romeo. As we leave, we keep quiet, because we're dead if they know. They can't find out. At the gardens, I tell my Romeo to close his eyes. "Let's escape this town for a little while, together, Romeo."_

My dad asks me why I've been acting weird. I look at my torso to make sure the little bump isn't visible, remind myself that I'm 18, an adult even if I'm his little girl, and I tell him the truth.

"_I'm a scarlet letter."_

He was more upset than I thought he'd be.

_Romeo tried to see me, throwing pebbles again, but my daddy opened up the window and shouted, "STAY AWAY FROM JULIET!"_

After my dad took away my cell phone and started guarding the landline, Jasper showed up at my door. I was smiling, but my dad was angry.

As he was leaving, I told him, _"You're everything to me, please don't go, Romeo! I'll be waiting, all we have to do is run to somewhere we can be alone. Prince and Princess. It's a love story, baby, just say yes." I pleaded with my Romeo. "Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel. I know this love is difficult, but it's real!"_

"_Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess, it's a love story, right Juliet? Baby, just say yes."_

I loved it that he knew how to talk to me when I had an 'episode'. He also knew when I came out of it, too. He gave me a grin.

"Hey, I love you. We love each other, and I'll figure out a way we can be a family, okay? Just wait, you'll see."

_But eventually I got tired of waiting, wondering if Romeo was ever coming around. My faith in him was slowly fading, but I loved my Romeo and wanted to believe in him again. I may have been losing faith, but I still believed in our love. _We loved each other so much it hurt, sometimes. _So I met him secretly, on the edge of town._

_And I said, "Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you, but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think! Please, Romeo! We can't wait much longer for you." _

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring. The scene kept _shifting in_ and out. In _both_, I was _shocked_. He knelt there, and said,_ "Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone again. I talked to your dad, and he eventually gave you the go ahead. Go pick out a white dress, baby, it's a love story, just please say yes!"_

_He was my Romeo. I was his Juliet. This was a love story, and we loved each other._

_He was my Romeo._

_I was his Juliet._

I loved him so much it hurt.

I knew he loved me just as much.

_Romeo and Juliet._

_I said _yes.

"_Yes."_

"Yes!"

Yes.


	5. IINSYFAOMN

**If I Never See Your Face Again/One More Night.**

**(-Maroon 5)**

I don't know why we keep doing this to ourselves. If it's love, then it's a pretty twisted kind of love. If it's the sex, then…well that I can actually understand. He keeps me coming back for more, and I leave feeling better than I did before. Cold sheets and empty beds, but I still feel satisfied when it's over. He's like a drug that I can't help but get addicted to. Every time we meet, I convince myself that's the last time. I'm going to break it off and leave. That's it. I'd be fine never seeing his face again. But we always end up going further than I thought we would. I mean, he's not even my type. But I guess he can make me sway _that_ easily.

Sometimes, he moves so well I can't help but give in. God, he's sex incarnate and he knows it, too. He tells me I'm not the only one, but he'd let me be, if I would just put down the blazing gun. I don't know what that's supposed to mean. I don't know if he makes them all feel the same way he makes me feel, which is frustrated. Most of the time. When he first told me, it made me burn inside, and I don't know why. I mean, it's not like I have any claim to him, and we're not in any kind of exclusive relationship. We meet, we talk for just enough time to convince ourselves we're not alone, we have sex, blow each others minds, and then we leave. It's not like I haven't told him I'm with another man, either.

The first time I straight out told him that in response to his taunting, the cocky bastard said, "I wonder if he's half the lover that I am." Then, he took me, tortured me slowly by taking his time, not letting me come until I was practically pleading. His eyes…they burned, it was like he was trying to bore holes in me. So, at least it's not just me. And you know what? Sadly, the other guy _isn't_ half as good in bed. Not even close. In fact, probably the only reason I was with the other guy is because I don't want this one to be the only twisted relationship I have. That's right, was. Past tense. I didn't want the other guy to be stuck to me when I'm stuck to him, so I broke it off. Not that he has to know that. I mean, it wasn't a serious relationship or anything. It was actually pretty much a string of one night stands, but this one's not much better. I'm lost most of the time…can't tell where he ends and I begin, and that's scary.

I keep convincing myself that I can walk away. But the truth is, I can't. I find myself wanting just one more night, convincing myself that will be it. Over and over again.

I wake up the next morning feeling satisfied, but hating myself. Then there's the guilt, knowing that even though it's bad for me I'm not going to stop. And I guess it can't be anything other than love, no matter how crazy and wrong it is. When I feel like maybe I can finally quit, there he goes again, making me love him. It's not like he's all to blame. We're equally screwed up. When he leaves to go on his campaigning trips, I make sure that he's coming back to me. When I leave on my business trips, I can feel his breath on my neck like he's right behind me. As twisted as it is, at least we don't deceive each other. The only lie I've told him is that I can leave whenever I want. And even then I only half-believed it, and I could tell he knew the truth. He knows, as much as I do, that we're stuck in this spiral down together, and when we hit bottom we still won't be able to break apart.

Sometimes, it all catches up to me and I find it harder to breathe. I ask myself what I'm doing. Why? Just, why. But the answer is always the same. Because as much as I hate him, convince myself that if I never saw his face again I wouldn't even mind, I love him, too.

I love him, however sick that love is.

I know he loves me, too.

We'll probably never say it out loud. We'll probably keep on going down this destructive path. We'll probably stubbornly refuse to talk about it until the day we die, like a game of relationship-chicken. That's just how we are. We want to outlast the other, see who breaks first. Who ends up groveling on the floor, reaching for something that isn't there. Mercy isn't relevant with him, and it's like he's daring me to shatter. Constantly, just daring me to fall and self-destruct. That's why I can't, and that's why he can't, and that's why we'll end up destroying each other. Burning each other.

We both burn too hot. We'll burn each other out one of these days.

We'll burn each other out, and right at the end we'll burn so hot we'll take the world down with us, and the ashes will fall so prettily, like soft, pure, snow. Only, not pure. The furthest thing from pure. Because we're the farthest thing from pure.

He makes me want to just rage at the world.

Our love is infectious, and sick, twisted beyond repair. One day, we'll burn out and tear the world down with us. I know this, but I can't stop myself from going to him, anyways.

I can't stop it.


	6. Superluv

**Inspired by the song "Superluv" by Shane Dawson**

She wasn't happy. Especially with Edward. He knew it; saw it, even if nobody else did. They'd known each other since they were little. He could read her better than he could read himself. He wanted desperately to help her, but she kept lying, smiling, saying she was fine.

He wanted to save her. But he was far from a superhero, with his quiet demeanor and shaggy hair. He didn't have a chiseled jaw, charming aura, or amazing superpowers. He wasn't that kind of guy. He didn't have friends, his classmates stayed away from him because he was a 'troublemaking loner'. All he had was his love for her. Not that it mattered, because she already had a boyfriend. Bella and Edward had been going out for three years, how was he going to compete with that? He wasn't even her friend anymore. She'd gotten caught up in Eddie, and he'd retreated into the dark corners and places where he was easily ignored. He didn't talk, didn't interact with anyone unless he had to, just went through his schedule like a zombie.

But he watched her. She was important to him. She would accidentally make eye contact sometimes, and the devastating unhappiness and resignation made his heart ache. Eddie treated her horribly. He was overcontrolling and obsessive, didn't let her go anywhere with what few friends she still had, didn't let her go anywhere period without checking in with him. He'd driven away most of her own friends and had consumed almost every aspect of her life. As far as Jasper knew, Eddie didn't hit her, but he'd accidentally hurt her before. Grabbed her arm too hard. Yanked her along too roughly. And his words did much more damage than his fists could.

Jasper had heard how she cried herself to sleep at night. Her mother had practically abandoned her and her father was just awkward with emotions and always out at work. She didn't need her douche of a boyfriend giving her backhanded compliments and messing with her mind. He couldn't stand seeing her so in distress. He cornered her often, begged her to let him help her. And he didn't beg. She never even admitted her sorrow. She turned away without saying anything, every damn time. He tried not to get frustrated, but it was hard when she so steadfastly stayed on the path down.

"I know you're not happy with him, Sunshine. Don't you dare try to deny it. I know you." She turned her head at his plea, his use of the childhood nickname he'd given her. She knew he wanted to help her. She wished he could. But Edward was all she had left. She didn't have her friends or her parents anymore. She wished Jasper would just let her be miserable and stop tugging at her heartstrings with his earnest eyes and heartbreaking sincerity.

She wasn't good for people. She infected everyone who got close to her and made them abandon her. Couldn't he see? She didn't want to tarnish him, too. She didn't want to hurt him. He was so good, loyal and moral, even if he was 'trouble' like everyone else said, even if he did get into an occasional fight or two. She didn't want to take that innate goodness away from him. So she held in her sobs and toyed with the necklace he'd given her when they were children. She remembered how, even then he had helped her. That was right after Renee had left and he'd made the necklace to cheer her up, out of this lucky penny that he carried everywhere. He'd given up the thing that meant the most to him so that she wouldn't be sad. He'd gorilla-glued it to a loop he'd made out of a strong paperclip and gotten some black cording from somewhere, and she wore it all the time as a reminder of how much she'd mattered to another human being. Lately, she'd needed it more than ever, when it felt like she was just too horrible for anyone at all to give a damn about. Just knowing that if she was that horrible, at least she hadn't always been was what mostly kept her going. She couldn't even meet his eyes.

"Please don't, Super-J." He was stunned enough by her response and the fact that she'd used that ridiculous name his 6-year-old self had insisted everyone call him, that she slipped away, dashing tears from her eyes.

The next time he talked to her her Eddie had left her with his friends. They were all his basketball teammates, and they gave all jocks a bad name. The only way they could be described would be douchebags of a very high caliber. She looked uncomfortable and out of place, waiting for her one connection to those people to get back from the toilet. She also was ignoring what looked like very obscene jokes about her, from the gestures they were making, but she fidgeted uncomfortably. He walked over, straight into the lions' den of pent-up teenage aggression. They didn't pick on him as much as other 'loners' or geeks, but that was just because he let their insults bounce off of him and slide right off into nothingness. Also, unlike the other kids they bullied, kids who were way smaller and skinnier than they were, he could fight back if they pushed him too far. Just because he didn't play on a sports team didn't mean he couldn't throw a punch. He'd even stepped in when they were picking on a kid in front of him multiple times. They usually backed off. That didn't mean they left him alone, though. They just didn't actively seek him out. But he knew that by putting himself physically near them he was risking them trying to beat him up. There were more of them than there were of him.

He didn't care. He couldn't wait. The fact that she'd actually responded to his last offer of help, and it wasn't to deny anything was wrong meant that she was worse than he'd thought. She, like him, usually could let most things slide and not internalize or read too much into them. She was a tough chick, more quietly strong than she let on. But she was also vulnerable, and having Edward constantly antagonize her must've worn her down. So he walked right up to her side and stood there defiantly, even as he heard her tablemates start hurling insults at him.

She looked up, and her eyes screamed 'help', even as she mustered up a fake smile. "Hey, Jasper. What's up?"

"He's not all you've got, you know." He responded flatly, before glancing at her hand, which was fiddling with the necklace he'd made her. She followed his eyes, before quickly dropping it and pretending like it didn't happen.

His words struck a chord deep in her heart, but she continued acting like she was fine. By now it was more an automatic response than anything. "I…I'm sorry…what are you talking about, Jasper?" She faked confusion, but her hand reached impulsively for the necklace before she stopped herself and set it back on the table. He noticed. His jaw tightened, before his eyes shifted to something behind her. They hardened and communicated so much protectiveness and fury she had to see who was standing behind her.

It was Edward, a cocky sneer on his face. He was trying to stare Jasper down, refusing to be the one who looked away first. But the pure anger he saw was more unsettling than he would ever admit, and so he deliberately shifted his gaze to his girlfriend. "Is this guy bothering you, love?"

She was a little confused by his sudden pet name for her, before glancing at Jasper and immediately realizing what he was doing. Rubbing their relationship in his face. She was upset on behalf of the boy who'd cared about her since they were little, but didn't show it. Instead, she just shook her head and pleaded nonverbally with her childhood friend to just leave it for now. He didn't want to. All Jasper wanted to do was punch that jerk Edward in the face. But one glance at her expression and his chest tightened. She looked almost pained. The furthest thing he wanted to do was hurt her, so he nodded minutely, threw one more scathing glare Eddie, who hated it when people shortened his name, and left.

The next day he waited for her, hoping to catch her before the squealing of tires and revving of an engine announced Edward's overly dramatic arrival. She saw him, leaning against a wall and staring straight at her. She ducked her head and tried to pretend like she hadn't.

But as she neared the school, he touched her arm gently and she just had to stop. His grip on her shoulders was strong and reassuring, but not painful or restraining like she had grown used to from her boyfriend. "Come on, Sunshine. He's not right for you. I haven't seen you smile in ages. Please, just break up with him. You're not happy. You should be happy."

She felt like crying again. His tone was gentle and soft; her chest yearned to tell him she would. Instead, she asked him, "Why do you care if I'm happy?"

He froze up for a second at her quiet heartbroken question. She seemed genuinely curious as to why someone would care enough about her to want her happiness. "Because, Sunshine, I care about you, okay?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes directly for the first time in their encounter. "But _why_?"

She wasn't fishing from compliments. He wished she were. "I…you're my friend."

She looked away. "We aren't really, anymore, are we? I abandoned you…when we started high school…and I met Edward." Looking back at him, she didn't confirm her unhappiness directly, but didn't deny it either. She knew it was no use trying to lie to him. He knew her.

He swallowed, hard. "I know." His eyes were unreadable to her. She couldn't tell what he was trying to say; the emotion behind it was foreign to her.

"So, why, Jas?"

"Because…" he hesitated. He heard the squeal of tires and the revving of an engine. She looked towards the source of the noise, and he muttered the rest under his breath. "Because I've loved you for a long time, Sunshine."

Her head whipped around to face him, and his eyes widened in shock. He didn't mean for her to hear those words. His hands dropped from her shoulders like he'd been burnt. Hers reached up to grab her necklace. He glanced to her right and saw Edward and his friends heading over, so he gave her one more glance and headed off. Her eyes were on him as he walked away, as she stood there.

When they were seven, she'd made him play house with herall the time. He would've much rather played something else, but she was stubborn about it. She was a little too old to play house, and he was a boy who wanted to do boy things. All the same, they played house. She'd made a play dinner one time, and placed it in front of him. It was made of tapioca pudding, celery, jam, and whatever else she could find. Half of it was probably stale, and she'd added some leaves to it. He'd looked at her incredulously, but had scarfed it down anyways when she'd acted hurt. She didn't think he would. He hated tapioca.

All the boys made fun of him for playing with a girl all the time. But he never complained or told me I had cooties. He just ignored them and kept being her friend

Then when they were nine, her dad had gotten a few days off and taken them fishing with him and his friend Billy. Billy's son, Jacob, was there too. Jake had pushed her into the lake, partly on accident. Jasper helped her get back in the boat, drying her off as best he could, and later shoved Jake into the mud. He' gotten into trouble for it, but he never once tried to explain himself or blame anyone else.

"_Thanks for saving me, Jas," she said shyly._

_He gave her a broad grin and puffed his chest out. "No problem. You don't have to worry about ever getting picked on, Sunshine. Just call me Super-J, 'cuz I'll always save you!"_

It was a silly, naïve childhood promise. But he'd kept it.

One time in seventh grade, she'd accidentally broken a teacher's picture frame. The teacher had left her alone in the classroom while she went to go print out something. Everyone else was at lunch, but she'd needed to talk to the teacher about some assignments she'd missed while she was out sick earlier that week. She'd panicked, standing frozen in that spot. This teacher was a bit notorious for having a quick temper and handing out detentions more than the others. She'd never gone to detention before, and she'd never gotten in trouble before, either. Now, just because she'd bumped into his picture frame, she might even get sent to the principal's office. Jasper had walked by, probably to see why she wasn't at lunch. She hadn't told him that she'd be late because they didn't share any classes before lunchtime. Seeing her looking so scared over the pieces of glass on the floor made him worried.

He'd rushed over to make sure she wasn't hurt. The teacher had chosen that time to return. Jasper had gotten in trouble many times in his class before, as he had a bit of a smart mouth then. The teacher had already labeled him a troublemaker, especially after Jasper 'tripped' another kid for calling her a geek and a nerd. So he got several weeks of lunch detention and yelled at for fifteen minutes straight. She'd been too scared of getting in trouble to interject at first, and had then gotten dismissed with a piece of paper outlining the assignments she needed to make up. She could still hear the teacher's yelling as she walked guiltily down the hall. Jasper never even gave her the opportunity to thank him. He never brought it up and never expected her to do anything for him in return.

Last year, even though she'd already started abruptly ignoring him after Edward had said something about their friendship making him uncomfortable, he'd still looked out for her. Lauren, a nasty popular girl had been harassing her ruthlessly one moment, and the next, the bottle-blonde cheerleader didn't even dare look in her direction. She'd seen someone looking suspiciously similar to Jasper confronting her outside the gym in the time in between. He didn't try to talk to her, knowing she had chosen to do this, even if it was a heavily influenced decision. He didn't want to make her upset. He just looked out for her from afar.

Jasper was a much better friend than she was.

Edward roughly spun her around to face him, angrily glaring over her head at Jasper's back. "Didn't I tell you not to talk to him anymore?" he hissed. She flinched at the spit coming from his mouth and tried to pull herself free from his just-a-little-too-hard grip. He tightened his grasp and shook her. "You're not allowed to talk to him, you hear me? Stay away from him!" He was really starting to hurt her now. She couldn't keep pretending it was entirely on accident. "You cheating bitch!" There was a mad glint in his eye that scared her. She wished desperately to be far away from the scene.

"Ow! Edward, let go! You're hurting me!" She called out, wincing. He didn't let go. Instead, he kept shaking her and yelling at her, ignoring her feeble protests. If anything, the pain in her shoulders increased, causing her to call out even louder.

Jasper heard the commotion and looked back, only to see Ed-douche violently shaking Bella. The anger and hate he already felt for this guy swelled a hundred-fold, and the next thing he knew he was doing what he'd wanted to do for years. Punching the fucker in the face. Said fucker instinctively let go and put his hands up to his face in shock. Jasper swept Bella, who was now crying at the reality of her relationship, into a hug, before moving in front of her to intercept Eddie's friends. He'd punched plenty of people and had been in a few serious fights, but the basketball players were known bullies and he was outnumbered. Poorly so. He managed to punch one of them, he wasn't sure which, before a teacher stepped in and started chastising them for fighting in front of the school. Mostly Jasper, though.

Just like when he'd gotten in trouble all the times before because of her, he stood there silently, letting the teacher blame him for everything. But not like all the other times, his left hand was in his pocket, and his right hand was gently holding hers. And that made all the difference.

The fact that she'd reached for his hand made him smile like an idiot, not caring that the teacher started screaming harder at him.

"_Thanks for saving me, Jas."_

"_No problem. You don't have to worry about ever getting picked on, Sunshine. Just call me Super-J, 'cuz I'll always save you!"_


	7. 0900 Hours

**WARNING: VERY GRAPHIC AND GORE-FILLED DESCRIPTIONS. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH OR ARE EASILY OFFENDED BY SWEARING OR HIGHLY DERANGED BEHAVIOR. TORTURE SCENES AND BLOOD-PLAY AS WELL AS OTHER DARK CONTENT. NOT FAMILY FRIENDLY. IF YOU DO NOT HEED THIS WARNING, AND YOU ARE SCARRED FOR LIFE BY MY TWISTED MIND, I TOLD YOU SO, AND YOU TAKE ALL RESPONSIBILITY.**

**OR IT COULD BE CONSIDERED HUMOROUS, IF YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR IS VERY...UNIQUE.**

**That being said, if you still wish to continue, enjoy, you sick little being. ;)**

* * *

**0900 HOURS**

**FEDERAL PENITENTIARY 1623500**

**PRISONER: ISABELLA SWAN**

**FULL CONFESSION**

**Agent Smith**: Full confession taking place in Interrogation Room C of Federal Penitentiary 1623500. Those present in Room C are myself, Agent Jonathan Smith, First Year Agent of the Joint Task Force Division of the T.F.F.A. and former psychologist for multiple Police Departments as well as Prisoner in question. Please state your full name for the record.

**Prisoner Swan**: Isabella Marie Swan.

**Agent Smith: **Please spell your first name.

**Prisoner Swan:** I-S-A-B-E-L-L-A. Can we get the boring part pronto?

**Agent Smith: **And your middle initial, if you may.

**Prisoner Swan: **(rolls eyes) M. Quickly.

**Agent Smith:** Please spell your last name.

**Prisoner Swan: **S-W-A-N. Like the freakin' bird.

**Agent Smith:** Alrighty, and your birth date?

**Prisoner Swan: **You already know my goddamn birthdate. I'm not going to repeat it just so your little record is all neat and tidy.

**Agent Smith:** I realize your situation is a bit altered, and I do take that into account. You don't have to give us your date of birth.

**Prisoner Swan:** That goes for all the rest of your bullshit.

**Agent Smith: **We already have those things on record, anyways. Considering your current position, we will concede this point to you. Do not push it, however.

**Prisoner Swan:** Yeah, well, I'm fairly certain this place is a dirty little secret. So things like standard protocol? Don't expect me to conform. Either that, or it will go both ways. Why are you a former psychologist, Agent Smith? Why did you quit?

**Agent Smith:** We aren't here to discuss me, Ms. Swan.

**Prisoner Swan:** My best guesses are either that you couldn't stomach the graphic descriptions or you weren't a very good psychologist. Maybe you figured it would help you in regular policework.

**Agent Smith: **(clears throat) The exact details of my former position do not pertain to the matters at hand, Ms. Swan.

**Prisoner Swan:** Yes they do. And I'm not going to answer anything until you tell me. You need what I'm about to tell you, and you know it.

**Agent Smith:** Fine. Psychology wasn't very good to me. I have a weaker stomach than I thought.

**Prisoner Swan:** Ah, so the first one, then. Interesting. Okay, I'm satisfied. You even managed to crack some semblance of a joke at the end there. Good on you. You may proceed.

**Agent Smith**: Do you know why we brought you here today, Ms. Swan?

**Prisoner Swan**: Of course I do. Me getting to go on a field trip out of that hole you put me in? Momentous enough for me to know the reason.

**Agent Smith**: And what would that reason be?

**Prisoner Swan**: (huffs) I said I'd tell you my full story. The truth. All of it. A full confession. Well, who would I be to go back on my word? So, here I am. You want the truth? The truth is that it all started with Jasper. For me it always starts and ends with Jasper. Always.

**Agent Smith**: All right, so if you would just-

**Prisoner Swan**: (interrupts) You'll get your full confession. But I'm going to tell it on my terms, how I want to tell it. And you are not going to interrupt me. (Looks irritated)

**Agent Smith**: (Calmly) Okay. However you wish, Ms. Swan. Let the record show that I am granting your request.

**Prisoner Swan**: (seems satisfied) Good. Now, I'm going to tell you our story.

I'll admit it. We weren't perfect. He was caught up with all the wrong people and I was caught up with him. But we tried our best. That's really all you can do, right?

When I first met him, I knew. I knew that he was bad for me, but I went with it anyways. I was the new girl, daughter of the Police Chief. I was always a blend-in kind of gal, so I tried my best to do just that, even though I was the focus of the whole school in a town where there were rarely any new people, ever. I ignored the vicious buzz of gossip about me and put my head down, trying to find somewhere without many people, so I could catch my breath. That was when I saw him. He had that classic bad-boy vibe going for him, and he was hanging out in the school parking lot, casually leaning against a brick wall and smoking. I was about to join him, just because it seemed to be the only place that was quiet, but I paused just long enough for him to see me. He took a drag off his cigarette and smiled at me. His smile was dangerous, it promised you thrill and broken rules.

I joined him anyway.

One dramatic year later, he'd dropped out of school. He wanted me to quit with him, but graduating was something I clung to. Besides, Charlie would've had a heart attack.

Not that I'd done much to prevent that. Before I'd fallen into him, I was the diligent daughter who stayed on the straight and narrow. Now, I had piercings and tattoos, I swore up a mean streak, and I'd had to be arrested by my own father. Breaking and entering. Underage drinking. Vandalism. Stuff like that.

I knew my life was headed downhill all because of him, if I thought about it. Which was why I didn't think about it.

Our love was passionate, and possessing, so damn cancerous it swallowed me whole. He loved me; that was one thing I was sure of. We just drove each other further down. We were both stubborn and hardheaded and we fought often. But as close as he'd come to hitting me, he never did. We'd end up in bed, working out our emotions in a different way. We loved each other so much it hurt, a deep yearning ache that reached down to the bones. To me, that was enough.

I knew he didn't have a job, but I didn't ask about how he made his money. I was scared to know the answer, but I knew it already. He would disappear, just for a few days, and refused to tell me the reason behind the guilt I saw in his eyes. I knew it wasn't another woman. Like I said, his love for me was something I was sure of.

Graduation came. I'd barely squeaked by. My grades suffered dramatically with him there to distract me. Charlie was still there, though, and even though we'd grown far apart and there was too much resentment and disappointment there to let us grow back together, for that one day I was his baby again. His pride and joy. I hugged him; saw the tears in his eyes. I'm glad we had that day, because the next one came and my daddy was dead.

My daddy ran into a serial killer who was passing through town. He fought like a champion but ultimately succumbed to the bastard's blade. I saw the crime scene photos later. I wish I hadn't.

I was devastated. Jasper comforted me, and I dove further into him. We were both broken and screwed up, but I think that was when I started getting even more messed up. I moved in with him. He found it harder and harder to keep me from the truth and one day I finally confronted him about it.

Babe, he said. You know me. You know I don't want to do this! He was right. I knew him. He was a good person; he just did what he had to do. It didn't really bother me as much as it probably should have. Charlie left me some money, but it wasn't gonna last long. Not for a high school dropout and his girlfriend who barely graduated. He said, I'm doing this for us, sweetheart. We always wanted to get out of this town, and I finally saved up enough for us to move.

So we packed up our stuff, it all fit into our old truck, and we just drove until that trusty car finally broke down. We were all the way in Chicago and I figured it was as good a place as any. The apartment we got was shitty and rundown, but it was ours.

I wanted to get a job but he had this thing about being the provider or whatever. We ended up compromising. I would do housework and babysitting for the families nearby. I begged him to try and stay on the straight and narrow, because I wanted to honor my daddy the police chief, and he couldn't say no. He got a job at some backbreaking place doing manual labor that always had him coming home dusty and tired. He was dead on his feet and I felt guilty for pushing him into this jog that was stealing the glint in his eyes that made me fall in love with him way back when. But we needed the money. I picked up some extra jobs, but that just meant both of us were worn out. We were going to wear ourselves out.

**Agent Smith:** So what changed? Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot-no interjecting. I hope you will overlook my transgression and continue. (rolls eyes discreetly)

**Prisoner Swan: **(takes a deep breath) That's fine. I just don't want to have to respond to those stupid questions you read off a sheet. It's too cold…impersonal. And I'm spilling my life to you, so it shouldn't…be impersonal.

He got laid off. He worked his ass off trying to hold down the job and make money but the new management and the bad economy hit him hard and he got cut for his rap sheet back in Forks.

He was just broken by that point, but he wouldn't have been Jasper if he didn't always find a way, do whatever is necessary out of his endless well of hope to take care of us. He fell in with the local gang, which was tied to the organization, again, rose up the ranks quickly, jumped to the big time, and tried his best to not be too harsh. He wanted to join the military originally, but he couldn't. He wasn't good at taking orders and we both knew it. Besides, we lived in a rough neighborhood and he wanted to be there to protect me as much as he could. Like I told you, we loved each other. He loved me.

We passed some good times together like that. Of course, he always got antsy whenever somebody from the organization would have to come over. He didn't want me to be associated with them. I was morbidly curious. There was something I can't explain beginning to happen…a sort of darkness to my thoughts that I tried my best to keep away from. But, as you know, it caught up to me fast. Fast, and so hard it took my breath away.

I started losing my jobs. People would move away or not be able to pay me anymore. It took a toll on him. He would hold me sometimes, reassuring me that it was going to be okay. I think it was more for him than anything, at that point. I felt kind of numb. The only real emotion I could count on myself feeling was my love for him.

Then, one day he came home, and he was quiet. He was shaking, and he kept rubbing his hands and arms like he wanted to get something off of him. I asked him what was wrong, and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, I killed someone today. He looked so down, and all I could do was hold him. That's what he needed from me, so I gave it to him. And later, when he needed my comfort in a different way, I gave that to him, also.

We were a loving couple, but as far as it goes in the bedroom, it was a completely different story. We were a constant power play, neither one of us wanting to submit fully to the other. We were passionate, and rough, and I loved it. But that night, I let him dominate, for the most part, as he worked out all his self-hatred and every negative feeling. I loved that, too. Probably more than I should have. I fell asleep with him on top of me, his arm securely around me to make sure I was still with him.

The next day I asked him if he was sure he was okay. He said he was, and I believed him. He looked almost shocked at the fact, and there was something new there, something that echoed that black tinge on my consciousness. He looked unsure for a second, before he told me that what he was really upset about was the fact that he liked it. He liked the feeling of killing another human being in cold blood. It should've scared him, he said. It should've scared me, set off a dozen warning bells and red flags in my head. It didn't.

After that, I could feel the both of us growing worse. That glint in his eyes was almost wild now, and hardened by life. We got even rougher in bed, both of us trying to find that utter, complete control.

One day, while Jasper was about to come back, one of the guys shows up. I recognized him; he was the one that always stared at me with this hungry look in his eyes. Jasper said that guy was a sleaze ball, I should watch out around him. Even without that, I felt uneasy. He had this nastiness about him. He asked me where my boyfriend was, but I knew he knew Jasper was out. I answered him, but kept trying to think of a way I could get to the spare gun Jasper kept in the bedroom, or maybe the kitchen knife on the counter. This guy wasn't here to see Jasper.

He starts approaching me, and I start backing away. I keep an eye on the kitchen knife, hoping he doesn't notice. I didn't feel scared…just heightened. All my senses were acting up in a delicious way, but he backs me into the fridge and pins me there. His body weight is heavy and there's no way I'm strong enough to get him off of me. The knife is just out of reach. He pressed himself against me, and the feeling of another man's bulge against my thigh made me want to puke. I was Jasper's, heart, body, and soul. This guy tries to kiss me, and his breath tastes like stale cigarettes, cheap liquor, and some kind of sour I don't know how to describe. I turn my head so his lips hit my cheek, but he's only more determined. His hand gropes my breast, and I want to kill him now, so badly it makes me grit my teeth. I try to knee him in the balls but it doesn't work, I'm up against the fridge too tight. So I cuss instead, loudly, and in his face, and I spit.

I know Jasper's going to get home soon. He's going to get home, and I'm going to make this fucker pay.

Meanwhile, he hits me. Hard. Tells me to shut up and enjoy being with a real man for a change. The insult to Jasper makes me angrier than anything he's done so far. He pulls at my shirt and tells me how much of a slutty whore I am, always prancing around in my tight clothing, toying with his dick.

I only wear the tight clothes because I know Jasper loves them. They're for Jasper, not for him. I spit in his face again, and he cusses me out. I cuss right back, and he bangs me against the fridge.

The door bangs open, and Jasper's there. He's furious, and he pulls the guy off me. He makes sure I'm not hurt and starts beating him. His knuckles are bleeding but he doesn't seem to care. He doesn't stop even when the guy's face is bashed in. I have to tell him to stop by touching his shoulder. He whips his head around and the absolute, violent frenzy in his eyes, the hunger for revenge makes me far more turned on then I should be. He sees me and his eyes soften, he looks me over to make sure I'm okay, as we stand over the guy's unconscious body on the floor. He logs every detail of what the guy did into his brain and he looks absolutely, deliciously murderous. I assure him I'm okay. I'm not the easily traumatized kind. I'm already far too screwed up in the head for this to affect me other than that was when the darkness started creeping in faster.

He takes me, right there on the kitchen floor next to the bloody son of a bitch. It's hungry and consuming, and it was like he's claiming me, assuring the both of us and the world that I'm his. And I'm his. Absolutely. Wholly. Only his. (silence, seems lost in thought)

**Agent Smith:** (clears throat) And what happens next?

**Prisoner Swan:** (seems angry) I told you not to interrupt! (glares menacingly then takes a breath) I warned you, and it wasn't entirely for me. The darkness…I can feel myself slipping back into it. Those meds don't work as well as they say, especially not if I think about it, and I've long since given up trying to control it. And you know what happens when I let it take over.

As I was saying, he claimed me. Of course, I wasn't completely submissive, but he was so damn hot, being all dominant, that I let him have his way. Afterwards, the guy was moaning and coming to. I was feeling feral, and I wanted to cut his dick off. Jasper looked even more pissed off than I was…I almost jumped him again, right then and there, who cares if the guy watched. But I knew he wouldn't like that, because he wouldn't like the idea of the douchebag seeing me naked, even partially. We were in such a frenzy that we didn't bother undressing fully. We fixed our clothing and decided without needing to talk what we were going to do. Jasper lugged the guy into our tiny storage room, a concrete unfinished space that was left over because the builders got lazy, while I stayed behind and cleaned up the blood. As I finished and decided to go join them, I made sure to bring the knife.

We made the guy wish he was dead.

I made good on my wish to cut his dick off, and Jasper took care of his fingers and hands. Said it was to punish him for putting his hands on me. His tongue went, too, as well as many other parts of him. That was our first taste, and it made me ravenous. I felt tingly and hot all over, I loved the feeling of relishing in the control I had over this guy. I loved hearing him scream, knowing I was causing him so much pain, so simply. I just loved it. Jasper loved it, too. We made love again, consuming and raw, in the puddles of blood leaking from the sack of human flesh that used to be a man.

The darkness was eating me, but I didn't mind.

He told his boss that he'd disposed of a snitch. He was commended. He was more ruthless than he'd been, and it made me hot for him. I wanted more. He was very high-ranking by now, and he let me…help…in certain circumstances. Interrogations and stuff of the like was my thing, and I quickly earned a place of my own in the organization. I wasn't just Jasper's old lady or his bitch. They called me Slash because my instrument of choice was a knife, or sometimes Enforcer even though the official Enforcer was much older and also a man. I liked to play mind games by getting under their skin and acting likeable and having just the personality to endear myself to them one instant and then ice cold and intimidating the next. It was fun.

Even though I thoroughly enjoyed my job, it was even better when Jasper was having a slow day and could join me. We did usually end up having sex, not caring if the prisoner saw us. They were usually too out of it with pain to care anyways. When they saw Jasper slip in and join me, the guys knew to clear out. We may not care if the prisoner saw anything, but Jasper didn't tolerate other seeing me like that, and they knew it. It was best not to get on the bad side of the two in charge of inflicting pain.

Then, as you know, everything changed. Jasper wasn't good at following command, and he could only do as he was instructed on the most part for so long. The darkness was consuming us both and it didn't help that we were practically diving in further. We were loose and crazy, so we quickly started the spiral that we are famous for. We broke away from the organization in favor of the chaos of choosing random victims and taking them for our own little session of pleasure for us and horror and pain for them. We lived victim-to-victim, jonesing for that fix of ecstasy only they could provide us with. We chose the unlucky person randomly, just waiting for the next opportunity. That was when you started chasing us, so we ran, still victim-to-victim. The race just made it more exciting, more exhilarating, so of course we had to up the ante.

And by that, I mean abduct and torture more and more. Yes, we were on our own little crime spree and it was the best time of my life. Almost every night, a new canvas for us to use. I remember a special night when we were feeling up for something different. So we hunted until we found a cute girl that blushed and hid her face but wore a sexy little number and danced like she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Her name was Angela, and she was pretty drunk already when we approached. Jasper, with his lulling voice and seductive nature quickly convinced her to try something new. I helped by stealing her breath with kisses and experimenting with soft feminine curves instead of the hard planes of muscle I was used to.

We shared her, giving us all pleasure and ecstasy before cutting into her, still using her body for our enjoyment, only now in several different ways. She bled so pretty, the lines of scarlet trickling down her body as she sobbed through another forced orgasm. At first, she thought it was a kinky thing and tried to refuse, but submitted before long. Then, she realized just what she'd gotten herself into as we took more and more of her for ourselves. As our blades cut deeper and harsher, but we never stopped the overwhelming passion of our conjoined bodies. Her sobs only increased the pleasure, and her body unwillingly shook through climax after climax even as we cut her open to see what was inside.

We cut her to shreds, we couldn't even tell at which moment she ceased to live.

And it was beautiful. We'd tried it before, with a male, but Jasper's jealous rage didn't allow for the full experience. It was such a shame too, a waste of a perfectly willing partner. But the girl…oh Angela…she was so perfect when she cried. When she begged and pleaded for mercy and then when she gurgled on her own blood even as she orgasmed one last time.

(smiles) She was really something…we played with her afterwards, you know. Jasper used her insides to leash me as he plowed into me from behind, and I painted him in her combined fluids…he glistened in such a pretty way that I just had to lick him all over. He tasted delicious. She made good paint, good lube, too. We claimed every inceh of each other, again and again, using her to her full extent. Bones, flesh, organs, and all that made up Angela. By the end, we were covered in her and each other, and we were so slippery he slid into me as smooth as butter-cream.

***It should be noted that at this time the Head Agent Smith had to leave the room to vomit. Prisoner Swan took this time to laugh to herself and then apparently feel joy of the sexual nature as she remembered the incident that was described above.**

**Agent Smith:** (enters room, looks wary) Okay, Ms. Swan. I understand this is part of your story and you wish to tell it, but it makes me very uncomfortable. Maybe you could avoid going into such detail?

**Prisoner Swan:** (tries to stand up, struggles against when they prohibit her) Damn right it's part of my story! I said I'd tell it how I want to, what makes you think I care about your comfort? (growing increasingly agitated) I'LL TEAR YOU APART AND BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!(struggles against chains, manages to stand and lunge at Agent Smith)

**Agent Smith: **GUARDS! Calm down, Ms. Swan. Isabella. Just calm down and we can get back to your story, okay?

***It should be noted that at this point several guards needed to rush in and subdue the enraged prisoner who, after hearing Agent Smith, calmed down almost instantly and returned to a fairly civil manner. Medication is administered. Prisoner Swan is compliant and even polite.**

**Prisoner Swan: **I apologize for my outburst. Sometimes I lose control. It's hard to keep myself normal. Or, as normal as I can be. It wants to hurt you. Really bad. It hasn't tasted blood in a while, metaphorically, mostly. It doesn't help that I also kind of want to hurt you as well.

**Agent Smith:** I see. Would it help if you continued with your story?

**Prisoner Swan:** I was going to, whether you suggested it or not. Anyways, that was about the time you all started to get close. We took a few more precautions, but it was hard to think when all we wanted was to experience more. It was a craving, an urge, a hunger that took over completely and consumed until we were gone and there was only it.

The love between Jasper and I was just as strong, if not stronger. Only, it was different now, it had mutated into something twisted and dark. Just like us. Alone, the darkness probably wouldn't have had such an effect. But we fed off each other and fell deeper into it and it was a vicious cycle. We were striking fast and sloppy. We couldn't think properly, it was only the hunger, the all-consuming need, and the love.

In total, there were 57. Give or take a few. I know, I know, I expected more, too. But we started fairly late and weren't as organized as we should've been. That's still more than the infamous Ted Bundy, though he was organized and methodical. So, I'm going to say the words I know you want to hear, if only to justify all your choices. You saved lives, Agent Smith Jonathan Smith. Congratulations to you.

**Agent Smith:** I-

**Prisoner Swan:** (cuts Agent Smith Smith off) I SAID NO INTERRUPTIONS!(breathes deeply) I wasn't done.

He was going to lure another stupid girl back, and I was getting the place ready. I saw him coming back, I watched in anticipation as he walked closer, distracting the girl from realizing they were going towards an abandoned-looking structure that was easily overlooked.

And that was when we heard the sirens. You got a last-minute tip and swarmed in, going straight for him. He pulled out his cell phone to warn me and protect me, give me time to escape to safety. Sure, we were killers, but we had moments, gaps in the darkness, too. (sobs, then grows increasingly agitated) Some rookie agent thought he had a gun even though we prefer knives and left our gun back in Chicago, and shot him. The sound set off a bunch of other agents and I watched my Jasper get shot down.

I can't even describe to you how I felt. I felt sorrow so deep it ached in the very center of my bones and then I felt fury surge through my body, setting my very being on fire.

I would've gone right outside and slashed anything I could before I was shot down like my Jasper, but I knew that revenge took time and planning. The fire burnt out the darkness just enough so that the hunger didn't cloud my mind anymore (starts to lean forward). I planned, painstakingly so, the fire of hatred and fury burning slowly but surely while I bided my time. I swore to myself that that rookie agent would wish he never even lived.

**Agent Smith:** (grows increasingly fearful) GUARDS!

**Prisoner Swan:** I trained, making sure I could overpower this rookie agent. I researched, making sure my plan would work flawlessly, and I would burn this rookie agent. I didn't even kill for fun, only for my plan against the rookie agent. I focused all the darkness and all the fire in me on one poor rookie agent. (chains clank Prisoner Swan stands, revealing she had pickpocketed the keys from the earlier guards)

And you know who that rookie agent is? (walks over and locks the door from the inside)Other than a poor son-of-a-bitch that's going to pay, and suffer so hard Jasper would be proud?

Just a unlucky guy named Jonathan Smith, First Year Agent of the Joint Task Force Division of the T.F.F.A. and former psychologist.

***At this point Prisoner Swan took out a hidden knife and proceeded to torture Agent Smith in a very graphic and gory way. It was a very painful, horrible way for Smith to die on the job, protecting the American people from the likes of Miss Swan. Prisoner Swan did indeed bathe in his blood, and exhibited very highly deranged behavior. She was later executed discreetly in a secure facility.**


	8. First Time Making Lemonade

**WARNING: My first attempt at a lemon ahead. My ****FIRST EVER****. You are warned. I apologize in advance if it ruins all lemons for you in the future. Hopefully, though, it's not quite **_**that **_**bad.**

I sat down with my laptop, relaxing into the comfy couch cushions of the small-but-mine apartment. Tucking my feet under me, I opened the lid of my baby, hearing it start up with a soft whirr.

While I waited for it to boot up, I reached over to the nearby coffee table and grabbed the remote for my iPod dock. I was in the mood for some background music while I browsed the web. It was finally the weekend, and I was planning on spending this beautiful spring Saturday afternoon indulging my inner Internet junkie.

When I pulled up my email, I glanced at it idly, scrolling subscription-generated notifications I was too lazy to cancel. I got a new message just as I was about to close the window. The subject line caught my attention. It read, _**Back in town. **_I clicked on it, my pulse speeding up slightly. Inside was an address. Most likely for his flat. The only other words read, _Last time around, you said I was nothing but an animal. Well, what can I do but be what you expect me to? Come, and we can have a repeat._ My fingers shook, gripping my laptop lightly as I brought myself to check the sender.

_**Jasper Whitlock**_

My breath came shallow and short. I was closing the computer and standing before I realized what I was doing. I stopped short. Still halfway between sitting and rising, I fought my own better judgment. I sat back down, but put my baby on the coffee table. I was too distracted to relax and browse. He'd ruined my plans. I needed to think.

This man had caused me problems from the first time I met him.

_I look at my watch impatiently. Then glance back at the man in front of me. He was talking on one of those little Bluetooth ear-things while waiting for the barista to make his overpriced coffee. His voice momentarily distracts me, pleasant to hear, smooth and rough at the same time, deep with a hint of sexy whisper and southern drawl. The southern accent was a bit odd, as we were in New York City, after all. Not that I was complaining. It was kind of sexy. I chastise myself for being such a creeper._

_I then curse myself for not being able to judge the time getting coffee takes correctly, and debate between staying and waiting in line or just skipping coffee and being a zombie at work. I turn to go, then convince myself I'd be more productive late and caffeinated than on time but tired and cranky at the last minute. So I turn back around, but in a twist of fate, I misjudge and turn a little too quickly at the exact moment the man in front of me turns to leave with his coffee._

_Hot liquid splashes onto my chest, first surprising then painful. I gasp loudly, then just kind of stare in shock. When I realize what happened, I curse softly but sharply, and pull out some spare napkins from my purse to try and wipe the coffee off of my red work blouse. I continue cursing under my breath as I scrub furiously at the material. Only a light chuckle and some proffered napkins snap me out of it, and I look up quickly through a stray lock of hair that has escaped the messy bun I threw it into. I let out the breath I was about to use to further the red streak I was swearing up._

_The man is so hot it hurts. If I were to describe what my perfect man would look like, it would sound scarily similar to him. His blonde hair, the color of sun-bathed wheat, hangs longer than most, but it works for him. It looks _so_ soft; I just want to slip my fingers through it. Maybe tug a little; see if he likes that sort of thing. He's got a strong jaw, straight nose, and full lips I want to ravish. His body is built but lean, something I can tell even with the suit he's wearing. His eyes are a dark blue-green that catch the light in just the right way. Right now they hold amusement. He quirks an eyebrow, then glances at the napkins held out in my direction._

_Flustered, I take them slowly, as if he is about to bite. The thought almost makes me moan out loud. Oh, please let him bite me__.__ I shake myself out of it. Pull myself together. Avoiding direct eye contact with his smoldering gaze seems to help. I force myself to focus on trying to prevent the developing stain on my favorite blouse._

"_Are you alright?" He asks. I get too distracted listening to his voice to hear what he is actually saying. My mind catches up just a beat too late, and I have a feeling he knows how appealing he is to me. Especially if I didn't imagine that little quirk of his lips. I almost groan. I must be ovulating. That's the only explanation as to why I am getting this turned on by a stranger. Why I'm currently fantasizing about him taking me on that poor table over there._

"_Oh, uh yeah." Brilliant as always. "I-I mean, no! You should watch where you're going! Okay, to be fair I wasn't either, and we crashed into each other, but still! Shit, I really don't need this right now, I'm already late, and at this point I should just give up on today and go back to bed." I murmur the last part to myself, waving my hands a bit to demonstrate, but he manages to hear it._

_He smiles, and hot damn I swear these panties are ruined. Slow and easy, but somehow dangerous all at the same time. Sinful. That's the word for it. "My apologies, miss. How 'bout I make it up to you?" The double meaning doesn't escape me. Especially since he leaned in even closer and all but whispered it in my ear. I gulp. He retreats back a bit with a small chuckle I barely hear. "Let me take you out to dinner sometime." He steals a business card from the little side-pocket on my purse and leaves, his body brushing against mine in a way I'm sure is on purpose. I'm left with the ghost of his minty-cool breath on my cheek._

I'd taken him up on his offer when he called. We had fun. It was hard to ignore the obvious sexual tension, but it was nice to find that he had a personality under all that mystery and charm. There was definite chemistry. I found myself having intense feelings for him by the fifth date. I tried not to think about it too much, because I'd only known him for a short time. And then…

_His lips crash onto mine, his hands massage my thigh. When did I hitch my leg up onto his hip? Why do I care when he's setting my body on fire? I moan lowly, as we crash against the door to his apartment._

_He chuckles darkly into my skin, and tries to slip his hand between our bodies to get his keys out of his pocket. I beat him to it, deftly extracting them and reaching behind him to open the lock. Of course, I didn't think it through and can't tell just from touch which key fits. He laughs again, but it quickly turns into a low groan as I nip at his Adam's apple, then suck on it gently. His hands are all over me, running down my sides, caressing my behind, pulling me impossibly closer to him. He turns us around and my back crashes against the door. His lips meets mine in a heated kiss, and our tongues fight for dominance. He attacks my mouth with an almost violent fervor, and I do my best to counter but I'm too obsessed with getting…_more._ Just more…always more…._

_All of a sudden, the door's swinging open and we're stumbling into his place, refusing to detach from each other. He reaches back to swing the door shut with a loud slam but doesn't stop on his quest to devour my mouth. I trip-over what I'm not sure- and we fall to the floor. He catches his weight on his forearms, trapping me in a little cage and leaning down to kiss me at his own pace while I writhe beneath him._

"_What if…" I say in between gasps and moans. I want to tease him and see his reactions. "What if I'd… said I wasn't…available...oh, Jasper!" I sigh as he furthers his attack to my neck and collarbone._

_He makes a sound from deep in his chest that sounds impossibly close to a growl, and stills his movements. I try to urge him, but he just stays stubbornly frozen. His lips move to my ear and his voice is low and hoarse. "But you didn't." He places a kiss on the spot right beneath my ear, soft and lingering._

_I realize he's going to play this out and groan, regretting my decision to taunt him. "That's right." I whisper breathlessly. "Because I was. Available, I mean." I kiss his neck softly, hoping to coax him into continuing his earlier ministrations._

"_Mm-hmm. And now, do you know what you are?" I can only shake my head no, caught in his hungry gaze like a deer in the crossfires._

_He grinds his obvious arousal into my core, making me cry out softly in shock and pleasure. "_Mine_," he growls, before reclaiming my mouth before I can respond. I lose all thought and pour all my energy into responding, running my hands down his chest and along his biceps while my hips rotate almost automatically against his jean-clad 'problem'._

_He raises himself off of me slightly, and I barely have enough time to frown before my top is unzipped, falling off of my body, and I'm gasping at the cool air hitting my skin. I'm thankful I decided to wear this particular article of clothing. The zipper being on the front allows for much easier access. His tongue is tracing a path down from my collar bone, and he stops at the edge of my red-and-black lace bra. I swear I hear a quiet 'damn' before his arm reaches around my back to remove it. I arch my back slightly off the floor to help him along, and as it falls to the side, I feel highly exposed. But only for a second, because the next, his mouth is on my nipples, suckling them gently. My back arches off the floor of its own accord this time, and I'm tugging at the bottom of his shirt almost desperately. _

_A flash of cold air hits me as he sits back to take it off. I rise after him as he discards it, throwing it to the side somewhere and am delighted to find he has a tattoo on his left pec, curling down and around his side. He also has a few mysterious scars, one a moderate length on his right chest muscle, another long and wrapping around from his back, the third along his abdomen. I lick my lips. I've always had a thing for tattoos and scars, not that I was glad he'd gotten hurt at some point. I push him slightly so that he's sitting with his legs out in front of him, then I straddle his lap, my knees at his sides. I'm free to grind away, almost riding him through our jeans, and I throw my head back at the feeling. He takes this as an invitation, his talented tongue at work at my breasts again. I moan, low and loud. I don't have time or will to be embarrassed at the sound, because it seems to set him off._

_His hands roam around my body and I need these pants off _now_. My panties are already soaked. He must be quite uncomfortable, as well. The front of his jeans are strained when I move off of his quite demanding bulge, and I slide myself down so my face is level with his zipper. My butt up in the air like a goddamn kitty, I undo his fly with my teeth. He groans at the sight, and willingly falls back onto the floor when I press gently against his stomach with my hand._

_I pull his jeans to his ankles with both hands, and his boxers quickly go the same route. His cock pops up to attention, straight and proud. I raise an eyebrow, admiring his quite impressive member. He shifts a little uncomfortably underneath me, his fingers which were playing with the ends of my hair giving a light tug, and I'm reminded to hurry up. I reach out and lick it tentatively, slowly from base to tip. I moan softly to myself, and he groans at the feeling. This time, I add a swirl around the head, and from his soft grunt, it's an improvement._

_I take him in my hands and get to work, sucking, licking, swirling. I even make sure to pay his balls a little attention, before he's pulling me up and kissing me fiercely. He kicks his pants off and pulls mine brusquely down my legs, tossing them to who knows where. But not before removing a condom from his pocket and slipping it on with ease. I would roll my eyes at his assumptions, but considering the current position we were in, I couldn't really say much. He takes a little more time with my panties, toying with the edges before I just want to scream at him to hurry._

_He grins to himself as if he hears my thoughts, and maneuvers us so I'm lying with my back to the floor and he's kneeling next to me. He slides the underwear slowly, teasingly off of me, my legs ending up thrown over his shoulder. His eyes darken, whether from a trick of the light or my own imagination, I'm not sure. He wets his fingers in his mouth erotically, making me almost moan just from the sight. He doesn't really need to, I'm already embarrassingly ready for him. He slides his moistened fingers down my leg, starting at the outside of my knee and travelling down to just above where I need them most._

_I want to smack him over the head and tell him it's rude to keep a lady waiting, but I'm no lady and I have a feeling that would just make him tease me even more. The cocky grin he gives me as he hesitates makes me scowl, and I'm about to open my mouth to curse at him when he plunges two fingers into me without warning. I press myself closer to him, my back arching again as whatever I was about to say disappears into a moan. He opens my legs and positions his head between them, and I don't object and tell him to skip the foreplay, because damn, that man is good with his mouth._

_His tongue teases my clit as his fingers do…something…something magical. It's like he adds this little random half-twist-and-angle-change thing every so often that feels so good it's crazy. I can tell he's searching for something every time, because he changes the angle slightly every time. I can also definitely tell when he finds it, because it shoots strings of pleasure up my body. I think it must be what they call a g-spot. I guess it really shows how dismal my previous sexual experiences have been that I don't know the term. Oh well, it seems he's making up for all of those with this single encounter._

_As much as it pains me, I reach down and grab his wrist, stopping the movement. He lifts his head and looks at me, his lips glistening slightly with my juices, and I almost push him down and make him keep going. But instead, I suck his fingers into my mouth, making steamy eye contact the whole time. His eyes, half-lidded with lust, burn me, and as soon as I release the digits with a small pop, his lips are pressed to mine again. His tongue makes its way into my mouth again, and the fact that I can taste myself on him just drives me crazier. _

_His body is pressed flush against mine, and I reach down until I find his member again. I break our kiss briefly to all but stick my fingers down my throat, just to see his reaction. He doesn't disappoint, staring at me with pure lust before greedily attacking on my neck. I moved my hand down to his cock, giving it a good coating and a few good pumps before stilling briefly to position myself above the head. I rock my hips slightly to tease him, feeling the tip at my entrance. We both groan, his muffled against the skin at the junction of my collarbone and shoulder._

_He thrusts his hips forward without warning, causing him to bury himself halfway in me with one movement. I moan at the sensation of him filling me, feelings myself adjust around him. It takes an extra moment because of his girth, but I steadily lower myself onto him._

_Once he's in all the way to the hilt, he starts rocking his hips back and forth. I eagerly reciprocate, and soon he's thrusting full-speed. Our gasps and groans fill the air as I return each thrust with equal fervor. I'm lost in the sensation, reduced to wild movements, desperate to increase or just continue the onslaught on my nerve endings._

_One minute, he's hugging my leg for leverage, and the next, I'm riding him as fast as I can. I've already orgasmed once, but I'm quickly on my way to my next._

_Then, he's thrusting into me from behind, doggy style. I don't even register the movement, so lost am I in the blind passion. We must be changing positions rapidly, because we're back on the first one, and his mouth, his hands, are everywhere. I'm on the brink, and he growls my name, "Isa…_bella_…" and reaches down to where we are joined to rub my clit. _

_I come undone when he pinches and changes his thrusts so they hit my g-spot with each one simultaneously. I scream his name, surprising myself. I'm not usually this loud. Eyes screwed shut as the powerful waves and ripples of pleasure spread through my body, A few thrusts later, he cums, biting into my knee and groaning my name loudly. It sounds so delicious on his lips, and I swear I almost came again._

Reliving the memory, my skin is flushed and I'm pressing my heel against my cloth-covered lady parts without realizing it. I calm down my breathing and give my head a shake to clear it.

After we'd gone at it again…several times…all night…eventually making our way onto his bed, he'd murmured something into my skin as he fell asleep. "_I think I just might be falling for you"_

It scared me. I'd always been a bit wary of serious relationships, ever since I saw the toll the divorce had on my parents, and I'd only truly fell hard once. He was my college boyfriend, and he'd ended up sneering in my face as he walked off with the other woman. Yeah.

I'd been saved having to have 'the talk' that defines the relationship by the fact that he had to rush off to a business trip.

And now he was back.

In a snap decision, I grabbed my keys and jacket and rushed off to the car. I remembered the way to his place, against all odds. He hadn't thought I would.

I was halfway there before the majority of my brain caught up to me, but by then I convinced myself it was too late to turn back.

When I got there, I hesitated in front of his door for a while before knocking. He answered the door clad in only a pair of pajama pants, obviously just out of the shower. He was toweling off his hair with one hand, and in the other, the one he'd used to open the door, he held an old gray t-shirt.

His eyes lit up with his smile as he saw me, stepping to the side to let me in. I was nervous. I was anxious. I was ridiculous.

His easy conversation helped me relax, and soon I forgot why I was so hyped up in the first place. And then, of course, he just had to start 'the relationship talk'.

"Look, I don't know what you're looking for. All I know is, I want to see where this goes. I really like you, Isabella. That's just the truth. I want this to be a real thing, you know? Not just sex. Although, don't get me wrong, the sex was amazing." He winked at me, and I just had to laugh and slap him gently on the arm.

I stopped, though, trying to think of a reply. I squirmed, feeling uncomfortable, and blurted out the first question I could think of. "But how could you like me like you say you do already? You don't even really know me…"

"Oh really? You're all sweet on the outside. All fair skin and pretty little face. You can look breakable and vulnerable without much actin', but I know you're made of steel honey, especially when it counts. You've told me your life story, while I've told you mine, and I know you've been through life and learned the lessons. You curse like a sailor. You move so damn smooth when you dance, fluid and sexy as hell. I'm afraid this won't end well, but every time I try to pull away, all you have to do is whisper in my ear and I fall right back into bed. Wicked little vixen. I just wanna do _unspeakable_ things to you, you know that?" He drew me close, and the scent I'd associated with him already, mixed in with the clean smell of soap, filled my nose. His face was only centimeters away from mine, and I knew what he was doing. I went with it, anyways.

"Okay," I admitted, a bit breathlessly. "Maybe that was the wrong question to ask."

He chuckled, his cool breath fanning against my cheek. "And what's the right question?"

"Let me preface it with saying that I'm all for what you said before. I guess I'd like to see where this goes, too. I will admit I feel a deep connection, and that freaks me out a bit, but I don't want this to be just sex, either. Although, don't get me wrong, the sex was_ amazing_." I teased him slightly by repeating his words back to him. He nipped at my nose. It was an odd response, but it was cute. In a weird, oddly sexual way.

"But my question is, when can we get a repeat of last time? I seem to recall you promised me one in your email, and your offer was just so _tempting_…" I trailed off, enjoying the feeling of his lips already trailing along my jawline. I took a page from his book and leaned in close to his ear, whispering words that had him carrying me into his bedroom and throwing me down on his bed. I giggled as he jumped in after me, and then gasped as he took my breath away.

"_I want you to fuck me like an animal, lover boy."_


	9. Cold Mornings

"Maybe because you're never around! Just for once, I'd like you to actually show up for dinner! But instead you always just call to cancel at the last minute! How do you think that makes me feel, huh?" I picked up the nearest thing to me, which happened to be a bowl, and threw it at him. He dodged it and grabbed something to throw in retaliation. I managed to shatter a plate on the wall behind him before he even reached it, and he cursed violently before turning back to me.

"I'm out making money for _us_! You know I really don't appreciate always getting the second degree from you, either! And you always blame everything on me! Excuse me for wanting to provide for you, for us! For wanting to not always be struggling to pay the rent!" The glass shattered as it met the wall beside me. I got even angrier, too angry for words. Why did we always have to fight like this? All I could to was splutter for a bit before I found my voice again.

"Ugh! You know what? Maybe I don't _want_ you to always be working! Maybe I'd rather spend actual time with you! Money isn't all that matters, you know!" I was up in his face now, hot with anger. "What happened to the sweet guy I fell in love with? The one who would come home early to surprise me and sweep me off my feet all over again?"

"I know that! But how are we supposed to eat without money? You don't think I _want_ to spend time with you? Of course I do! I love you! But I have to have a job, too! We can't _all_ make money from home on our own time! So excuse me for actually having a job and going to work!" I slapped him. I got up in his face and slapped him straight across the face. The sound echoed slightly through our modest apartment. I didn't let it ring for long.

"You're such a bastard!" I was screaming now, not caring that the neighbors were going to complain tomorrow. Again. No, I was just too caught up in the waves crashing down inside me. All the resentment, the silence, the never meeting each others' eyes. Was it too much to ask for him to put his work down once in a while and acknowledge me?

"What did you say?" He never screamed like I did. His voice would rise, yeah, but when he was really angry, his voice would get lower. Right now it was deadly. I felt a little thrill of fear run through me, but quickly squashed it. I wasn't going to back down.

"You heard me!" I slapped him again, just for good measure. He slowly turned back to face me. For the first time, I felt a twinge of regret. I froze, my breathing fast and heavy.

I really shouldn't have done that. He never hit me, no matter how angry I got him. Considering his temper and the way I riled him up, it was a testament to just how much we still cared. But I knew exactly how to provoke him and which buttons to press. What cut deep and what wounded. Calling him a bastard was an especially low blow because it was a particularly sore spot for him. I knew that. So why did I purposefully hurt him? Why did I say things like that? Why did I always have to pick a fight instead of talking it out like a normal couple?

I really shouldn't have felt a hot little curl slide into the pit of my belly. The way he was looking at me…hot, intense, passionate. He hadn't even looked at me in weeks, and then he give me _that_ look…I fought hard to push the lust out of my mind, but his eyes were onto me now, and god, did his stare just _darken_? I was panting like a bitch in heat, but every time I blinked all I could see was his face above me, etched with pure ecstasy. The air around me felt charged with some bizarre form of electricity and when I closed my eyes I could only feel his sweaty skin against mine, the way his touch made my body hum with pleasure.

And I _really_ shouldn't have let him push me up against the wall and kiss me. Most of our fights ended up in the bedroom. It wasn't healthy. But _oh god_! His lips were punishing, demanding, and hard against mine. There was no elegance, no romance, just the feel of him smashed up against me. I shouldn't have liked it as much as I did.

He forced his tongue into my mouth, and I rose to the challenge. I bit down, but not hard enough to draw blood. He didn't seem to care, our tongues fighting for dominance in a battle that really can't be won. He was demanding my submission, and it was a losing, uphill battle. I shouted at myself not to give in, never to give in, but what was spite when his hot mouth was consuming me and _oh,_ the hard wall at my back versus the hot, hard planes of my lover. One of my hands fisted itself in his hair and the other clawed its way down his back. Grasping at…something, something just out of reach but so close I can feel it slipping teasingly through my fingers. He caught my wrists before I could do any real damage to his back or rip out his hair, and pinned them above my head. I squirmed, tried to slip them out of his grasp, but his grip was firm and strong and inescapable. He tightened it, squeezing so hard I knew there'd be bruises later, but it was bordering on pain while still firmly planted in pleasure, and I couldn't help it, I moaned low and full of desire.

I was at a definite disadvantage. He was a damn good kisser, I had to give him that, and as much as I didn't want to, I melted into him.

But not before kissing him as rough as I could and biting his lip so hard I tasted blood.

He was turned on, and frankly I was too. There was probably something wrong with the both of us, but as he lifted my shirt teasingly and traced the lines of my tattoo, scraping his nail against my skin, I really didn't care. I ached to just throw myself into the whirl of pain and pleasure, so I did.

The night passed with desperate touches and harsh grunts. I wanted to fuck him so hard he'd leave traces of himself on my skin forever. I wanted him to pound all our problems away. I wanted to scrape the bitterness and numbness off of him with my teeth and nails alone. His eyes were cold and distant but the rest of him was so _there_, so _present._ The feel of him, rough and punishing, but solid and real. I came with my teeth digging hard into his skin, a muffled scream, and tears forcing their way out of my eyes. He grunted against my skin, his voice low and gruff, and collapsed next to me.

I woke up all alone to a cold bed and a note that said 'work'. One word shouldn't have been able to cut me to the core. I felt sated and satisfied, but at the same time guilty and numb. I curled up and cried.

Then I got up and pretended like it never happened.

When he got home, we went back to ignoring each other. He was back in time for dinner, but we ate in silence and afterwards he set to work on the stuff he'd brought home with him. I faked uncaringness and cleaned the dishes. We went to sleep without a word.

The next day, I broke down again. I went out to replace the things that we'd shattered in our fight. When I got back, I just sat on our bed and stared at the ring on my finger. The simple silver band was scratched and worn, but it still glinted in the sunlight. I brought it to my lips and tried to keep from crying yet again. He came back and we both spent the rest of the day in silence again. We both pretended it didn't matter and that we didn't care. Neither of us wanted to admit how hurt we were. Neither one of us wanted to give in first. We were both too damn proud. Neither one of us felt happy.

That night I considered leaving him for the millionth time. I'd never actually gone through with it, but it wasn't fair to me or to him to stay in this unhappy marriage.

But when I looked to the nightstand and saw the picture of our wedding day, the joy and love shining like a beacon in a dark world, I couldn't bring myself to pack just yet. I owed it to the both of us to at least try to work this out. We were once so deeply in love, our souls poured out and bare, so united it was almost like we were one.

I went out again the next day and spent most of it with my. If they found it weird that I wasn't quite as into our night out as I was before, they didn't say anything. They were throwing caution to the wind and living it up. I was a mess inside, trying my best to cover it up. I convinced myself that if I tried my best to forget it, it wasn't real. But I was faking it, and the loud pulsing music and meaningless talk made me crave the silent comfort of home, even if it wasn't as comforting anymore. The drive home left me feeling empty and sad again.

But when I opened the door, there were candles and rose petals, and he was standing there with the most hopeful smile on his face.

"You were right," he said, "I should spend more time with you."

That night dinner wasn't silent, but instead filled with pleasant chatter and familiarity. I lost myself in his open eyes and I fell in love with him all over again. That night, when we made love there wasn't any anger or resentment. Just tenderness and care. When I woke up, he was there beside me, and when he left it was with a smile and a lingering kiss followed by a gentle laugh.

The entire day passed with nothing but happiness and bliss lingering behind him like the kiss that stayed on my lips. I would find myself smiling and pressing a hand to the ghost of it, and I would feel warm inside instead of the usual numbness and despair. When he came back, he put his briefcase away right by the door and asked about my day. I could tell he was really trying, and in response I tried my best, too. It was both of our faults, not just his, after all, that we'd spiraled down this deep.

I felt like we were newlyweds again, not caring about anything other than each other. His touch stayed on my skin and the way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he laughed stayed with me when he left for the day. When he came home there were meaningful talks over warm dinners and gentle caresses that stirred a soft yearning.

But a month later he got a promotion. It was back to work sucking up all of his time, silent evenings, and tears for me. I swore I'd never get drunk again, but I did. I gave up on life and just sat under the desk and cried. I was piss drunk and three sheets to the wind, curling up and sobbing my heart out.

I started another fight in a desperate attempt at getting him back, feeling _something_, I don't know. We had angry sex again and I woke up hating myself. It was a vicious cycle and I didn't know how to pull us out of it.

He tried, and I did too. God know we tried our hardest. But at the end of the day I'd always end up waking up in a freezing cold bed.

* * *

I narrowly dodged the projectile she threw at me. Instinctively, my hand wrapped around one of the stupid little ceramic figurines she kept around because she thought they were 'kitschy', whatever the fuck that was.

The second shattering crash had me cursing up a storm and I shouted back at her, the anger in my chest blinding me as I threw the damned cat thing at the wall. It didn't go anywhere near her, and some small part of me, _somewhere_, was glad. I didn't want to hurt her, never wanted to hurt her, but damn it if she wasn't good at tearing open old wounds.

And then came the accusations and the disappointment in her eyes. Didn't she realize I just wanted to give her everything she ever wanted and more? She deserved the fucking moon and I'd try my hardest to get it for her, because she was everything, and I was nothing. Nothing. But she chose me and I tried every day to give her a reason. I don't know what I said, my ears were ringing and my head was spinning, but I definitely felt the sting of her palm against my face.

And I definitely felt the sting of the woman who was everything calling me a bastard. That tore the blindfold right off my eyes, the red haze disappearing as all that was left was hurt. Memories of her sweet voice telling me it didn't matter, it was my son-of-a-bitch father's fault for missing out on me in the first place, all came rushing back around me. Her holding me and soothing me while I tore myself up over it, reminding me that it wasn't my fault. _Bastard, bastard, bastard._ Her enraged shriek rang in my ears, like a bad record of torment and I couldn't shake it out of my head.

"What did you say?" She took the tiniest step back, fear flashing in her eyes before she regained her ground and her confidence. I barely had enough time to feel bad before she was smacking me again. I turned back to her, despite wanting to just admit how lost and hurt I was and crawl into a corner somewhere and never come out.

Her chest was heaving, and I found myself feeling a different kind of hot under the collar. The energy in the room shifted, and my eyes trailed over her body. I felt like a pervert for wanting her right now, but _damn _if she didn't look so good right now, all fired up, her tiny fists all balled up and that hard glint in her eye. That fire was the reason I fell so deeply in love in the first place, and the months of cold silence had taken a toll on me. But _this_…my senses were assaulted with memories of her writhing form under me, her cries of ecstasy, her warmth, her sweaty skin sliding against mine.

And how was I supposed to resist her when she was looking at me like she wanted to _devour_ me? I slammed her against the wall, trying to tell her how much I still cared, how deeply and ferociously in love I still was with her. I shut out the cold outside world, and lost myself in _her,_ her hot breath on me, her nails biting into my skin. Her teeth pressed down on me in a way that had me wanting _more._ Those damn little sounds drove me wild, teasing me and tormenting me and dancing in my ears. I pushed myself into her, wanting to just envelop myself in the sensations that were just _her_ and no one else. Our teeth clashed and our lips mashed up against each other, it was sloppy and wet, but I wanted nothing else. Never. Not when she was my world and my everything and my heart and my soul. Not when she was here, with me, despite deserving someone better, someone who could give her everything and more. Someone who could make her so happy she was high, but all she got was me. But even the thought of someone else's hands on her had me kissing her harder, deeper, harsher as if I could somehow claim her for all the world to see. As if I could make her mine and no one else's, because I was a selfish bastard like that. I wanted to erase the thought of her moaning for someone else, someone else's hands doing these things to her.

I wanted…I wanted her to never again doubt my love for her. I wanted her to know without a doubt that this was all for her, this entire world was hers, at her feet, my soul, my heart, anything and everything. Because she was a goddess and she had come down to earth and married me, a lowly man who could only try his damned best to give her what she deserved. I wanted to drive the point home so hard it stayed with her forever. I wanted to fuck her so roughly I'd leave marks that proved this was real. I wanted to bury myself so deep inside her I'd never have to leave. Most of all, I wanted to show her how real and how passionate my love was for her.

I woke up to her sleeping form beside me. I watched her for as long as I could manage before tearing myself away from her side to put myself through the daily torture that was my employment. Knowing I'd have to go the day without her and that she'd hurt when she woke up to emptiness made me almost buckle at the knees and just crawl back in bed with her. Throw all my cares to the wind and never leave that bed. Never have to go another minute without her intoxicating presence. Make her laugh and smile and happy.

But we had to eat, and she deserved better.

So I wrote her a note and headed off to work because I was late and if I stayed a moment longer I'd never be able to tear myself away.

I came home, and it was like it had never happened. It hurt, but it was all my fault and I knew it. My fault for not being good enough. My fault for not being what she needed or wanted. I spent the evening in silence, thinking about what I could possibly do to make her smile again. I tried to concentrate on the inane and boring papers I'd brought back with me but I kept on finding myself drifting off to thoughts of her and memories of her laughter. I couldn't concentrate.

Another day of mindless paper-pushing and my thoughts kept turning to her. I disappointed her, I hurt her, and worst of all I didn't know how to fix it. I kept panicking, envisioning myself opening the door to an abandoned home. My hands kept shaking and I couldn't get anything done. By the time I left I was in the midst of a full-on panic attack, and I stood outside my own apartment for half an hour just working up the courage to go inside.

When I finally did, I saw her and my entire body was flooded with relief. Thoughts along the lines of _T__hank God she's still here_ kept running through my mind and I felt like I was floating. I was so thankful I was speechless and I kept looking over to make sure she was still there and this wasn't just my mind's way of coping with the cold reality. I wanted to reach out and touch her, maybe just ask her if this was real and if I really was lucky enough to hurt her so much but still have her. But she didn't look like she wanted my touch, and I couldn't find the words. I kept choking on them halfway through opening my mouth. We went to bed without my ever getting the chance to tell her how happy I was that she was still sticking around.

The third time I decided I needed to express to her how much I was willing to change. I cut out of work early, not thinking about my boss's reaction, just thinking about bringing that bright smile to her face again.

I put together the most romantic dinner I could and when she walked through that door looking miserable my heart broke a little. But she saw me, and she looked stunned. All the things I'd been rehearsing to say to her disappeared and all I could say was how she was right and all I could think was I really was a screw-up if any romantic gesture on my part had her shocked speechless.

But dinner was amazing and the best evening I'd had for a while. It was almost like we were back to before all this. Before the work and the distance. I was warm from head to toe and my chest felt like it was going to burst, I was so happy. And the world was bright and colorful and full of meaning again and it was perfect and she was perfect and I never wanted this to end.

I kissed her softly and went slow, making sure to build up the pleasure with reverent movements and to worship her the way she deserved. I woke up and couldn't bear to go to work anymore. Not after last night. Not after the way she'd sighed and almost cried with love and how I'd looked into her face and saw her smile, and heard her laugh for the first time in months.

So I stayed. And I left with a warm, full heart, despite knowing I was going to catch hell when I finally made it to the office.

The next month was pure bliss, like the finest chocolate melting on the tip of your tongue. I could focus at work, and I had a newfound energy. I was motivated beyond all means, pouring myself into my work with determined devotion so that I could go home to her and bask in the warmth of her laughter and the way her face lit up and the smile that I put there.

But when I told her I'd gotten promoted and how that meant more hours, that smile faded and the laughter was replaced with silence. I didn't know how to reassure her, and soon the warmth was gone while I lost myself again. My motivation was gone and all there was felt crushing and horrible. She gave me the cold shoulder and I felt myself sinking back into old routines.

Only it was worse, it was so much worse, because I knew how good it could be again, and I knew that I couldn't no matter how hard I tried, make that last. Another fight, another screaming match, more resentment and bitterness and distance. More of the same but none of the good and my internal despair was at new heights.

She deserved more. She always deserved more. Everything, the best. But I couldn't, and it wasn't, and she hurt but I couldn't fix it…and every morning I had to force myself out of our bed and every morning I died a little inside, leaving her to a cold morning.


	10. Oh My, My, My

**Inspired by Mary's Song by Taylor Swift.**

"Isabella, Jasper's family is coming over today, so I want you two to play nice, okay?" My daddy said, picking me up and spinning me around. "I know you two kids get along okay, even though he's nine, and you're seven. Just remember to only stay on our block, alright, honey?"  
"Yes, daddy. Do I have to wear a dress?" I wrinkled my nose. Mommy always made me wear a dress.  
"You're my baby girl, Bells. That said, you can wear whatever you want, as long as you don't tell Mommy." His eyes twinkled and he tapped me on the nose, then winked at me. "Now you should go wash up, okay honey?"  
"Okay, daddy."

"Hey, Steve! Hi Melinda. Oh, hey there, Jasper. Come on in! You know, this kid's going to be over here a lot when they're older. One day, I bet you they get married."  
"I was just telling Mel the other day. She doesn't believe me. But I guess you and I will just have to wait and tell them I told you so."  
"Mel, are they talking that nonsense again? Why can't they believe Jasper and Bella will just be best friends?"  
"Because we know that they're going to get married someday, Renee. Isn't that right, Steve? Then we'll really be family. Won't that be great?"  
"Oh, my, my, my. You hear that Ren? They're plannin' the weddin' already."  
I heard my daddy and mommy saying hello to the Whitlocks, and hurried down the stairs as fast as I could, but I fell on my butt. It kind of hurt, so I pouted a little bit.  
"Are you okay, B?" Only one person called me B. I looked up to see Jasper standing over me, his eyes all shiny like those stars we like to look at.  
"I'm fine, J. I fall down a lot, remember?" He smiled at me, and asked the parents if we could go out now.  
"Just until we call you for dinner, sweetheart." I liked Jasper's mom. She was nice. She tells me to call her Melinda or Mel for short. Just like his dad told me to call him Steve. They were really great. They took me out for ice cream with J and Pete, sometimes. Peter is Jasper's cousin. He lives on the other side of town, but it's not like it's a big town, so he comes to visit a lot. He's eight, so we were all in a row whenever he came over.  
Jasper goes to the same school as me, but he's in third grade. I'm in second, because I got in school younger than he did. But at school, he says hi when he sees me, even though third graders and second graders are supposed to be separate. I like to play with him, even though he's mostly in charge cuz he's the oldest. We're best friends, cuz our parents are best friends, and they live real close to, so I can play with him a lot.  
"Here, B. I triple dog dare you to jump over this creek." We were in the woods behind my house, where I like to play pretend. I don't think J likes it too much though. But he plays pretend for me, and I do some third-grader stuff for him, too. Like jumping over creeks. "I bet you can't do it. You know what happens when you back out of a triple dog dare, right? I'm bigger than you, I'd have to beat you up."  
Well now I had to do it. I looked at the creek. It didn't look too bad. Okay, who am I kidding, it was wider than I'd ever jumped before. But I couldn't let J have to beat me up. So I closed my eyes really tight and jumped as far as I could. All of a sudden, it was really cold and wet. I quickly swam to the surface like J taught me. I almost made it! But I didn't, and that made me really sad. Jasper was really cool, and he was my best friend. Now he'd beat me up, and that wasn't good.  
But when I got out of the creek, he didn't say anything about beating me up. He just made sure I was okay, and then he said that I was really brave for trying. That made me really happy. Then he said that it was my turn to dare him. I thought about what I could do. Then I thought of something. Jasper and I played house a lot, usually because I begged him to. So we were kind of husband and wife, right? And Daddy said that husbands and wives kiss and hug each other. Me and Jasper already hugged, but we never kissed. Jasper said that even though I was his friend, I was still a girl, and girls were weird, and he didn't want to catch cooties, just in case. So I raised an eyebrow at him and started smiling my evil smile. "I double-dog dare you to kiss me on the lips, Jasper Whitlock. And if you back out, I get to play your video games for a week!" I was proud of myself. There was no way he'd kiss me, and then I would get to play his games!  
"What? My games? But you always drop them!" He looked really scared.  
"Well, too bad. I'm going to get them for a week. I double-dog dared you. So ha."  
"What? But...but my games! You know what? I'm not going to let you win that easily." I was a little confused, but then he took a deep breath, and started leaning forwards, eyes closed. He was making a kissy-face. I got really scared, then. I didn't think he'd actually do it. So I ran, really fast.  
"HEY! NO FAIR! YOU DON'T GET TO PLAY MY GAMES, B!" I heard him shouting, but I didn't care too much about his games then. My heart was still beating really fast.

9 years later  
"Bells! Come down here! The Whitlocks are coming over!" I heard my dad yell from downstairs. I immediately blushed a little when I thought about that. Jasper was coming...I immediately went to go change my shirt, from an oversized t-shirt to a cuter fitted one I got last weekend. I wasn't so much of a tomboy anymore, but I still liked comfort and hated dresses. And Jasper wasn't a kid anymore, either. Now, he was kind of hot. Okay, really hot.  
I bounced down the stairs, but of course, being me and clumsy, I fell on the last one. "Oh, come on. Really?" I mumbled to myself.  
"You okay, B?" That rich voice got my heart pumping double time right away.  
"Yeah, yeah. You know me. Clumsy." I kept my head down, trying to shield my blush. Calm down, it's Jasper. He's your friend, remember? Just because you have a crush on him doesn't mean you should act all weird. He knows you really well. Plus, he'll be eighteen in half a year. He's way too cool to hang out with me, and yet he is, because I'm his best friend from when we were kids.  
"Still. You sure?" I looked up. His damn eyes were doing that twinkly thing again. Why did he have to be so awesome? Nice, caring, sweet, hot, just Jasper. I'd known him since we were in diapers, he'd always been great. But then puberty hit, and boom. We weren't those little kids anymore.  
"I'm fine, J." I managed a smile. He grinned back and suggested we go out to the woods, for old times' sake. He was graduating at the end of the school year, and even though he was staying in the city, he'd be a college guy. Even further out of reach. So I said sure.  
Lately, I'd begun to think he might like me too. He was always play-flirting with me, but he'd upped the ante a bit. He drove me to high school every morning, and he didn't even just honk his horn in the driveway. He was just so...Jasper, and I might just be misinterpreting friendly gestures, but I couldn't help it. It was Jasper.

"So..." We'd walked until we reached the creek, where he'd leaned against a tree and I perched on a log. I had decided that this awkward silence thing was overrated and decided to open my stupid mouth without knowing what to say.

He smiled at me mischievously. "B, I dare you to jump across that creek. You never could when we were little."

I raised a brow. "Or what? You'll beat me up?"

"I am bigger than you, you know." He wagged his eyebrows at me playfully, then gestured to the creek.

I laughed at him, then faced my challenge. I backed up a little, to get a running start. Then I ran as fast as I could and made a flying leap over the creek. I landed with only a little stumble, then turned around to face him with the stupidest grin on my face. "Yeah well, my legs are longer now. You never did beat me up."

He winked at me and said, "As for the first thing, I've noticed. And to the second, maybe I just forgot. Anyways, it's your turn to dare me." He backed up a step and launched himself over the creek with ease. He landed, slightly crouched, right next to me. I wasn't prepared for how close he'd be, and felt a little startled.

"Hm. I wonder what I should make you do." I put on an exaggerated thoughtful expression.

"Well," he started circling me, then came to a stop in front of me and leaned in, so his face was only a few inches away from me. "What did you used to dare me? When we were kids?"

I frowned in confusion. I usually didn't dare him back. Then I suddenly remembered, and gasped a little. I ducked my head, heart pounding in my chest. I decided to treat it as a sort of joke, in case that wasn't what he meant. I looked up, a forced grin on my face. Raising an eyebrow, I spoke the words from years ago. "J, I dare you to kiss me. If you don't, I get to play with your video games for a week!"

He chuckled, turning away, and I was about to deflate of relief and disappointment, when he looked back at me. Stepping closer, oh so slowly, he suddenly turned more serious. "No running this time, B. I'm not letting you play my games, a week is far too long."

Wait. He hasn't played video games since...my thoughts were cut off as he leaned in really close and planted a kiss on me. I couldn't stop myself from kissing him back as best I could, once it registered in my mind that Jasper Whitlock was actually kissing me. It was amazing, and felt like my first kiss all over again, erasing all my thoughts and scrambling my emotions. All I knew was that it was amazing.

We finally broke apart, breathing hard, and all I could do was smile so hard it hurt. He was grinning that beautiful grin that I loved, and he held my hand to his heart.

"Damn," he breathed, forehead still leaning on mine. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

I felt goofy and silly inside, and I laughed outrageously. It was cliche but I'd wanted him to do that for ages. "Well, Mr. Whitlock," I replied, thickening my accent, "you sure do know how to make a girl swoon, don't you."

He laughed and played along. "Aw, shucks, ma'm. I'm not all that." His accent was full out ridiculous now, but it was adorable.

"Oh my my my, you sure are a catch aren't you, Mr. Whitlock. Swoon-worthy _and_ with a manageable ego. Why, I might just keep you to myself."

"I hope so, ma'm. I sure hope so."

"Daddy, I have something to tell you." I tried my best to act nonchalant.

"Yes, Bells?" He looked over his paper at me, and I took a deep breath.

"Actually, I'm telling both of you." I glanced at Mom, who put down the mug of tea she was drinking from. I rubbed my palms against my legs nervously, then took a deep breath. "The thing is, Dad, you know how you and Jasper's dad are always joking about us growing up and falling in love? Well..."

"No way. We never thought you'd actually...you're not pregnant are you?" I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

"What? No! I just wanted you guys to know that we've been dating for a few months now, that's all. I mean, you know Jasper. You know how good he is, and so I didn't think it'd be all that big a deal..."

"Didn't I tell you no dating until you were thirty?"

"_Dad_. He's not exactly my first boyfriend."

"Oh, you mean Eddie. The transfer student from up north? He was lousy."

"It was Edward, Dad. And he was kind of lousy, yeah, but he was my first serious boyfriend. But, it's Jasper, dad. Remember? When I was seeing other guys, you always complained about me not finding someone as good as him. Well, now I have."

I swear, my dad actually pouted. Full on puppy-dog pout.

"Don't listen to him, honey. He's fine. He just won't admit that he's actually happy with one of his little girl's boyfriends. Or that his little girl's actually grown up. I, for one, am happy for you. You'll have to tell me more later, when Mr. Grouchypants here isn't sulking." Mom winked at me all conspiratorial, then went back to her tea, glancing at Daddy over her mug.

"So, I told my dad." I was currently leaning against Jasper, reading a book while he did his homework. I'd finished mine a little while ago, as today he had a lot more than I did. It _was_ getting closer to his graduation..

"And is he going to shoot my head off?" I smiled. Jasper knew very well how overprotective my daddy could get. In fact, he'd done his share of intimidating my 'no good' boyfriends.

"Well, he knows you, Jasper. Our dads are always joking about us falling in love, remember? He'll be fine. My mom was real happy, so you'll probably be fine." I patted Jasper's arm playfully, and he rested his chin on top of my head.

"That's not a no," he joked. "My parents are insanely happy. Dad's all excited, and Ma's always liked you."

"Well that's good."

"Yeah, it is."

**Three years later**

****"Happy anniversary." I grinned, turning around. Jasper stood behind me, holding a bunch of my favorite flowers.

"Oh, Jasper. You're so sweet!" I planted a big kiss on his lips, then smelled the bouquet. "Here." I handed him a small box, white with a blue ribbon.

"You didn't have to get me anything, B."

"You just handed me a bouquet of flowers," I reminded him. "You didn't have to do that, either." He grinned, sitting down on our favorite bench, and slowly opening it.

"You remembered!"

"How could I forget?"

"God, I love you, B." He pulled me into a tight hug, and I returned it.

"I love you too, J, so much that sometimes it scares me." He pulled back, looking into my eyes. I knew we were both remembering our first fight.

_It had been over nothing really, something so insignificant neither of us could remember it a few days later. We both knew we were overreacting, but it couldn't be helped. I think we were both a little scared of how much love and trust and faith we put in each other. Anyway, we had ended up screaming on my front porch. Jasper tried to remain calm and ration, like he always was, but i knew him well enough to push all his buttons the wrong way. He was shouting, but I was screaming at the top of my lungs, so hard my throat started to hurt._

_I ended up slamming the screen door on my way in, not even kissing him goodnight like I always did. I stormed past my parents, who had been woken up by all the noise we were making. Hot tears were pouring down my face, and I threw myself onto my bed._

_My dad had come in, demanding to know if Jasper had done anything to make me upset. At that point, I had calmed down enough to know that it was mostly my fault. I told him so, and explained that I had started a fight for pretty much no reason at all, and how I was now scared to the bone that Jasper would want to break up with me. My dad sighed, and explained that there was probably no way that was happening. He gestured to my window when he saw my confused look, and I went over to look through it._

_Jasper was pacing on the lawn, running a nervous hand through his hair. I could tell, even from up here, that he was worried about something. We just knew each other that well. He finally sat down on the front porch steps, head in his hands. i looked at my dad with questions running through my head so fast I couldn't say any of them. He told me that Jasper had been like that the entire time I had been up in my room. I checked the time, and was shocked to see it was already Sunday, no longer Saturday._

_I raced down the stairs, not even tripping once, and flung open the door. He slowly stood up, and stepped towards me as I crashed into his chest and sobbed, apologizing over and over. He held me, running his fingers through my hair, and kissed my forehead._

_After I had stopped crying, I told him how sorry I was at picking a fight, how terrified I was of feeling this strongly for him, everything. He apologized for yelling at me, saying that he was scared, too. I saw the truth of it in his eyes, and he told me how sorry he was for raising his voice at me, his voice sounding broken. I knew that he was raised not to yell at the people he loved, and I felt so regretful for making him feel that way._

_By then, the sun had already come up, and we felt more at peace, holding each other in the early morning._

__I looked at the man who I had loved since forever, and kissed him deeply, knowing that he was the one for me. He smiled at me, and I snuggled up to him, my breath slightly visible in the cold air. We watched as the sun came up, and I was glad we had made a pact to watch the sun come up together from our bench every anniversary. It was breathtaking, and well worth waking up so early.

"B? I have something to ask you." I turned to look at Jasper, looking oddly vulnerable. I immediately became concerned.

"Anything, J. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. It's just...I went to go see your dad a couple weeks ago, and-" He seemed nervous.

"He didn't suddenly become overprotective of me again, did he? Don't worry, he really does like you, you know that right?"

"No, no, it's not that.." Then he suddenly broke apart from me, but before I could become worried, he stood and then went down on one knee.

"J...is this what I think this is?" He smiled at me, and my eyes grew wide as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"Isabella Marie Swan, I love you so much it hurts. You've always been my best friend, and you're the most important person in my life. It's been a long time coming, but would you do me the honor of becoming a Whitlock? Would you be my wife?" My heart was in my throat, and I felt like I couldn't speak. I'd never been a huge fan of marriage, it was just a piece of paper to me. But this was Jasper, and Jasper knew me inside and out. I loved him, and he loved me, and I couldn't possibly say anything other than...

"Of course! Oh, wow, J!" I all but attacked him with my hug, and kissed him soundly, grinning without knowing it. With my face buried in his jacket shoulder, I mumbled, "You make me so happy, Jasper."

He must've heard it, because he turned to face me, the happiest I'd ever seen him, and squeezed me tight enough to take my breath away. "Oh my, my my, Isabella. You sure are a catch." I laughed so hard it was crazy, kissing him over and over until my lips were numb.

Our wedding was simple, neither of us was too fancy. I wore a white dress that had no frills or lace, just very basic. The bottom faded into a light shade of blue, but that was about it. I was more focused on the fact that I was marrying my Jasper, then any of the details.

It seemed like the whole town came, and our mothers cried tears of happiness. My father was grinning so big it rivaled mine and Jaspers, clapping my new father-in-law on the back and saying even though they hadn't really believed we'd get married, it was nice to be legally related.

All in all, it was perfect and amazing and more than I ever thought it would be. Right before we left for the honeymoon, my mom came up to me, tears in her eyes.

"Oh my my my, Bella, it was beautiful! You two are so happy it makes me cry. Your father and I love you, so much, and it's good beyond imagination to see you with someone as good as Jasper. He makes you happy, and that makes us happy. Don't forget to call, baby girl." And we hugged each other as she cried, bringing tears to my own eyes.

I felt truly complete then, as cheesy as it may sound. It was the beginning and the end of something great, and as I looked at my soulmate, my Jasper, I couldn't help but think, _Oh my, my, my indeed._


	11. Daylight

Daylight's coming. He knows he's going to regret not getting his rest while he can. It's late, and tomorrow he'll have to return to the hell of shouting and death and fires that burn out all the good in the world. He'll have to go back to that hell filled with bullets that take away his brothers-in-arms, and downtime with nothing but his own demons to occupy his mind. His arms tighten instinctively around the soft, warm body in his arms. He takes a deep breath, hoping that with the scent of home and sweetness he'll also be able to somehow inhale _her._ Because she's the opposite of war, she's everything that's good and light and hope and sugar with a hint of spice, and he doesn't deserve such perfection, but he has it anyways. He's lucky enough to have her smile, the one that puts everything wrong in the world right again, her eyes, clear-bright-beautiful, shining beacons for him on a rainy day. Everything that puts to contrast the stark, cold, and dark place they call Earth, and the one who holds his heartbeat in the warmth of her embrace. He's the luckiest guy in the world.

And he knows it. So instead of getting a good night's rest on his last night in their shared bed, he makes himself stay up and stay awake. Forces his eyes to stay open, all the better to take her in. He wishes he could open up his chest and keep her there, feel her burning out the nightmares and blood-spattered cries of _pain-death-horror_. But he can't, so he holds her as close to himself as he can. Feels his rough skin greedily leech heat from her soft body, her small form curled up perfectly in his arms. The soft puff-puff of her breath, the sure and steady beat of her heart. The reason he lives, his world, his entire fucking universe.

He wants to weep, knowing he's going to have to leave her soon. Leave their cozy bedroom and her perfection and her beauty. The sky's already starting to brighten, the stars burning out the moments that he's going to carry in his heart to protect against the boys with dirty skin and haunting eyes toting around guns bigger than they are. Tries to forget the cold heaviness of his own heart in his chest as he closes his eyes and squeezes the trigger.

He wants to stay, wants to reach out with his mind and tug the dark fabric of this night back around them. He remembers that as a little boy he was afraid of the dark and wants to laugh. Now the dark is all that he wants, she's all that he wants, all that he ever and can ever want, and he's seen so much worse than make-believe monsters hiding underneath his bed and if he could he would stay forever in this bed with her adorable little sleep-face, her angelic expression. _Somebody,_ he think-plead-prays, _anybody, please just slow this down, let me hold her a little longer._ This is too hard, nobody should be forced to do this, to leave her to wake to a cold bed alone for the next who-knows-how-many-months. But he'll have to go, slip away in the daylight leaving her with a soft kiss to the forehead. He signed up for this, to protect her from the big scary world in any way he can. Even if that any way is the cold metal of his weapon and the soft clink of his dog tags against his breastbone.

Swallowing the lump of his heart that's bursting with feelings for the beautiful woman who had somehow deemed him worthy of her care and her love.

_We both knew this day would come. All along, our last night._ He starts to slowly slip away from her as much as it physically pains him to do this. Gets to his feet as slowly as he can, stalling as the first few rays of early morning sun shine through the window to illuminate his world. I will leave, I will leave, he promises himself. I just need this last memory to keep me going. This is why I'm fighting, this, this, _this_. He drills it into his brain, etches in every last detail and wrinkle of her sleep-clothes. With a heavy sigh, a soft but lingering kiss and the emptiness where his heart used to be, he tugs on his clothes and grabs his duffel. At the door of their bedroom he looks back at the angel who keeps his heart and soul one last time, then turns the icy doorknob and leaves before he breaks down to his knees and can't.

In the quiet stillness of the night, he lay down on the bare dirt. In the midst of a warzone, it was as safe as he could get, and there was something almost peaceful about the downtime. After rechecking his gun for the hundredth time, he sighed and flopped back down. Looked like it was gonna be another night of a whole fat wad of nothing. He knew he should be thankful. Boredom was better than the alternative. He'd take staring off into space over the danger of ambush any day. But downtime could be worse than the brief moments of action in that it wore down on you. Constantly having to be alert and wary, never being able to relax completely. Isolated with your unit with nothing to entertain you but memories of bloodshed and screaming.

He pulled the crinkled and worn picture out of his pocket. It had travelled with him ever since he had to leave her, a constant reminder of just why he was out here. He could barely make out the image in the dark, but he knew her face by heart anyways. It was just nice to have a physical connection to her, even if it was only a photo that had clearly seen better days. He looked up at the stars, imagining her bright smile and warm eyes, playing with the worn, plain silver ring on his finger.

Letting his hand, with the picture still in it, fall over his chest, he lost himself in his memory of going home for the blissful leave and soaking up every last drop of her attention. He couldn't get enough of her presence, so very much there. He knew he had to get his fill during those amazing days, because he'd have only those memories to carry with him over his deployment. The pain of their last night was eclipsed by far of her, her, her. Of course, there were brief moments when the unit had the pleasure of being able to webcam with the ones who meant the most to them, but they were too short and too far in between. Besides, having her intoxicating presence there with him couldn't possibly be compared to having to see her pixelated, distorted image on a computer screen.

He sighed; reminding himself he couldn't afford one minute less of precious, precious sleep. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? He had to be ready. He had to be able to defend himself and his brothers-in-arms. Had to be able to get back and kiss her. Had to get back to her.

He closed his eyes and dreamt of her.

A few days later, she of the bright smile and warm eyes was breaking down. The words kept repeating over and over in her ears, but she couldn't hear them, not really.

Because he just couldn't be dead.

No way. Impossible. The fog of denial was buzzing in her ears, white noise protecting her from the harsh reality. No, no, no, no, no. Not dead. No way. Can't be. He isn't. No. Just no. She didn't even notice the tears streaming down her face, couldn't hear her own ragged sobs. She curled up into a ball against the wall and rocked herself back in forth. She shook her head violently; trying to deny it so hard it didn't exist anymore. Maybe if she denied and wished hard enough, he would come back to life.

She could feel the ghost of his warm, comforting touch on her shoulder. See him crouching down in front of me with soft, kind eyes. Hear him telling her comforting words, gently soothing her the way only he could. _Hush, now. It'll all be alright. I'm right here beside you. We'll make it through._ She looked up, only to see nothing but air. Another round of sobs, her face buried in her arms.

She didn't move. She wouldn't have ever moved if he hadn't appeared. Talked to her with that honeyed voice of his, urging her through basic routines needed for survival. Taking care of her even in…she couldn't say it, not even a week later. She didn't return any calls. Unplugged her phone after the first few days. She liked to think he was just away…away she could deal with. Pretended he was still out on deployment. Only, she just didn't have a date to count down to.

She tried not to think too much. Mainly, she just tried to ease the hurt a little. The deep, aching pain. It was like instead of him, it was her heart that had perished. She'd cried herself out that first day. After the shock. She just felt weary, bone-tired now. And grief. Always the grief. She almost wished she still had tears, if only to have the cathartic experience of the physical manifestation of her pain.

She carried around the photo everywhere. Their favorite one, shot candidly. He was turned three-quarters to the camera, a brilliant smile on his face. Her answering smile was thrown over her shoulder as she carried on a conversation to someone standing on the cameraperson's right. The look, the one they always shared, captured and immortalized forever. It said everything. It was their own secret language, communication without any words. But more than anything, it said 'I love you'.

_I love you, did you take out the trash?_

_Of course I did. Love you._

_Thank you, honeybee. I can't live without you._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

No matter how much she tried to pretend everything was still the same, she was only deluding herself. Her body knew instinctively that a huge chunk of her was carved out. Gone. Missing.

Her heart had been ripped out in the same moment his had stopped beating.

His funeral, though, was unavoidable. She wore all black, a color that she'd never understood before but now realized was the very epitome of the grief she felt. The gaping hole in her that only he would ever be able to fill was just like a black hole, unavoidable and all-consuming. She cried through the whole thing, more black, black, black, sliding down her cheeks. Evidence of her attempt to hide the ugly sorrow from him, her last attempt to look as beautiful as he deserved. With every shot fired in honor of his death she could only flinch and sob harder, imagining how he must've felt when the brightest flame she'd ever seen was snuffed too early and too harshly.

That night, she curled up around that picture, comforting herself with what little she had left of him. Wearing his shirt, hugging his pillow, trying not to break apart at the seams. Tears slipped out, blurring her vision, and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to lose his image the way she'd lost him. This happened night after night, while she went through the motions like a robot. Soon, his scent was slipping away from his clothes, but she still found comfort in being closer to him. Even if it was something as small as this.

She had considered joining him in the land of the dead. Many times. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. He would appear, his voice low and soft in her ear, telling her to live for the both of them. And she just couldn't deny him that.

So night after night, she let herself hurt. The pain was still as raw and aching as it had been that first week. By now, the photo was worn and crumpled, but she still kept it with her. Still fell asleep tracing his face with her thumb.

Still lived for the nights, when she dreamt of him.

That night, his face was clearer than it had ever been. His smile, bright and sunny, as he laughed with her. The dream was filled with his laughter, and all she could tell of the surroundings were that it was bright and sunny and she felt warm for the very first time in too long of a while and she didn't know if it was the sun or his laugh. She drew closer, following the beautiful, hope-love-everything of him as he drifted farther and farther away. But she followed him deeper and deeper into this lovely warmth, this light so bright it stung her eyes but she didn't care. She couldn't take them off of him, his eyes happy and carefree and not at all like the ones she'd seen before when he thought she couldn't. His thousand-yard stare, the one that told her that he wasn't really there with her but rather in the nightmares he woke shouting from. He looked younger and no longer tormented by the death of his comrades, and it was intoxicating. She couldn't get enough and kept trying to reach out and touch him but by the time his warm, rough, skin was under the very tips of her fingers everything was very, very, bright and then very, very dark.

The next thing she saw was him, close and everywhere. It'd been too long since she'd felt the comforting weight of his arms around her and this time she cried happy tears. This time the emotion filling up her body and spilling out the seams was pure, blind, joy.

She was laid to rest right next to him under the tree they'd said their vows. There were only a few people at her funeral, the same that had awkwardly hung back as they saw her collapse and implode at his. They shook their heads at the cruel fate of the two whose love had seemed like a force more neverending than gravity, but smiled at the thought that they were together again. That somewhere up above they were continuing that blinding love.

"You know," said one thoughtfully, "The coroner said her heart just gave out. But she was the most health-minded people I know. That girl died of a plumb old broken heart, if you ask me. Those two are up in the clouds holdin' each other close right about now, and she is so much better off there than down here."

The man she was talking to was an older gentleman of few words, but he knew truth when he heard it. Still, he felt he needed to say something. So when he got up to give his eulogy a few moments later, he held back the tears he would shed later for his departed daughter and simply, gruffly, said the following:

"My little girl loved that boy with all her heart, and that's the reason we're standing here today. Love. Love so bright it puts the daylight to shame."


	12. Didn't We?

"I…I'm almost…sunshine. I…l-love….love you…" I bite back a sob because I was never any kind of sunshine. That was him, all shiny blonde hair and warm sunbeam smiles.

"We…almost made it,…didn't we. Didn't we?" Eyes glazing over, struggling to draw breath. Words barely a hoarse whisper, red seeping through my fingers. Words he fought to get out, between final breaths and final moments, so soft you could miss them if you blinked. I fought back a sob.

"Yes. We-we…this time….." My voice was quiet, too. Broken and raw as his body on the ground. Hushed, because we both knew what was coming next. My throat wasn't cooperating with me. It closed up and choked me when all I wanted to do was find the perfect words to bring us back to before the shout and the impact of the bullet through his chest. I ran my fingers soothingly through his hair, combing through the matted locks. The thick blood was drying but still had the slippery-wet texture that makes me squeamy and fills my stomach with dread. Because it never means anything good.

"I love you too. I love you, I love you, I love you." I say it like a prayer, a mantra, a plea. I mean it like a magic incantation. Only he isn't miraculously healing and I'm not sinking down with him, either. The tiny twitch of his lips, like he wants to smile.

And all I can think is it isn't fair. None of it is fair. Why does this happen to us? Our shot at escape cut short by the shot heard round the world or maybe just in me but it changed _my_ world forever. Home free, so close I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. Now there's only cooling metallic despair bubbling from his lips and what did I do that was so bad I deserved this?

What did I do?

Because it has to be something I did, it isn't _his_ karma coming into play here. No, he's made of nothing but warmth and strength and good and all he ever wanted was to right. To right when I've wronged so much in the past, but now it's his beautiful light that's leaving through the bubbles of his life essence gurgle from his lips.

And they're coming and I know they're coming but I can't make myself leave this boy who brought joy and laughter and hope to my world. I'm the reason he's leaving this world, he only ever wanted freedom and justice and love and now his eyes are clouding over. And it's not fair, and it's not right, and nothing can ever be right again. Not when he's all that's good and yet he's seeping into the cracks of the pavement and I can't stop him from going where I can never reach him or see him ever again.

So I cry and wail and shake, because I know he's gone. I know because it's cold and suddenly a lot darker. He's gone, baby, gone and all that's left is me, a broken and defective sinner who's selfishness has snuffed out someone rare. I throw back my head and scream with everything that's in me, staring as the dark night clouds cover the brilliantly full moon. My breath is ragged and now there's an ache in my throat that beats in time with the ache in my chest and all I can do is cry myself dry.

And now there are rough hands in rough gloves pulling me away and I kick and thrash and try to break free. I don't want to escape anymore, don't they know that? They're taking away the only reason I had to break free for, taking him away, taking him away. He's gone, I know that, but they've taken everything away, they can't be allowed to take the only bit I have left of him away too. Not when all he did was live and laugh and love. Not when he was golden, freely giving and receiving love and happiness.

I bite someone and barely feel the freezing metal barrel of the gun as it strikes my cheekbone. I feel the crunch though, and blood pools and all I want is for it to be flowing in his body again. His body that will never be alive again. If I could give him my blood so that he could walk this earth again I'd do it in a heartbeat because he deserves it so much more than I do.

And now he's out of sight and he's not just gone, baby, gone. Now he's so far gone it's like he never existed. But he did exist, he did. For a brilliant but short lifetime and now I'm left behind and have no more hope. My hope is so far gone…

What's the use in fighting them. I go limp and let them drag me back. Back to the dismal place where dreams go to die and my dream died tried to get out.

His last words, forever haunting me. Ringing in my ears and through my head and down my body.

_We almost made it… didn't we?_

_Almost…almost…almost..._

_Didn't we?_


	13. Time Goes On, But I'm Forever Yours

**AN/: Written while listening to Whispered Words. Therefore, somewhat melodramatic depressing/angsty. Implied suicide, some Edward bashing. That is all.**

"_Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies"_ - Aristotle

Time goes on…

You're gone.

You're gone, and I'm still here. Why the _fuck _am I still here, waiting for you when I know you're never coming back. You'll never want to. I was never good enough and I know that now. I get it; I deal with it…I lock it up tight so no one can see it – you're my dirty little secret. How does it feel, knowing you've broken someone? Knowing that you took someone who was always a little nervous, always a little unsure, and built them up? Built them up so that they could almost taste the sky, the stars, the fluffy-ass clouds…and then tore them back down again – lower than before – crashing down like broken prayers and the scattered pieces of promises and dreams.

Did you feel powerful, shattering someone with nothing but a cold glance and harsh words? Did you rejoice as you walked away, knowing I was _dying_ there, where you left me?

I hear your voice…it surrounds me. You said you would be _gone_ –it would be as if you never even existed. Can you believe that at the time, I thought that was the worst part? That I could not fathom how to live with you _gone_? I didn't want you to disappear from me…I clung to you like a drowning rat desperate to breathe, even as you vanished into thin air. I kept your touch on my skin, your breath on my lips, and your taste on my tongue. I kept your smell in my nose, your face in my eyes, and your memory in my mind. I focused on keeping you with me so much that the real world faded.

I went _crazy_ missing you, _my love._

Did you know that at the very end, all I could see was you next to me? I would try to push you out of my mind – laughing at myself for being so stupid and wanting you so close in the first place. I _wish_ it was as if you never existed – that my mind was a _fucking_ _sieve_ and you would fade from it. But it's not, and it's _not_, and you didn't.

I didn't want you with me, anymore. Not in spirit, not in memory, not at all. I distracted myself, dove into my studies and my hobbies, hoping that I'd blink and you wouldn't be there – tattooed behind my eyelids – just once.

It didn't work.

Every time I turned around, you were there. Every time my mind wandered, you were there. Every time I took a breath, every time I blinked, every time I pushed your memory away.

It was the little things, mostly. Just a random sight, sound, or small trigger, and all those memories would come rushing back. I would have to stop what I was doing and just try and hold myself together while waves of pain and separation tried their damn best to drown me.

Every time I went to bed, I saw you.

I was haunted by your memory. I couldn't get rid of you no matter how hard I tried. Fucking sieve, my ass.

I'd lie awake at night, thinking of everything and anything to keep you outside that window. I'd hear you, whispering in my ear. You, softly singing my lullaby in that perfect voice of yours. You, reading to me from my favorite books. You, telling me how much you loved me.

Laying in the dark, I drowned in them.

Sometimes, they were almost comforting. The things you'd use to tell me – that I was cute when I was mad, more beautiful than I could ever see, _smart_ and _amazing_ and _intriguing_.

Sometimes, they were horrible. My worst nightmare. You, with those cold, dead eyes, tearing into all my worst insecurities. You, telling me that I was nothing – am nothing. And it must be true, for you were the one who gave me pretty little lies in the first place. The only one, the _only_ one. If you couldn't even bear to assure me with false hopes and beautiful words, than how truly _horrible_ must I be?

Not good enough to keep you near me, not good enough for my second family, not good enough for my first. When I think of those words your brother told me – _you are worth it – _all I can think is how you all must have laughed at me afterwards.

_That silly little human girl – thinking that we love her, that we care about her. How stupid. How _utterly_ clueless. How so _very_ beneath us._

I tried to fight it, at first. After I came out of my catatonia – you know Charlie had to get a doctor because he was so worried about me? – I went through a phase where I went through the motions, like some kind of zombie. Charlie was less worried, but he knew I wasn't right inside. It killed him, watching me like that, did you know that?

I long ago accepted that I was at your mercy, and I knew when you left that you'd killed me.

But _Charlie_? My Daddy? He didn't deserve that.

I tried – oh, God, I tried so hard to get over you – but we're stuck together, you and me. Though, I guess it's really just me that's stuck with you, even though you're not even here. God, I'm so pathetic.

I had an absolute breakdown after he told me he'd called Renee to get me because he didn't know how to help me. Charlie's a proud man. Not very good with emotions. But he cried. He fucking cried because of you. No girl ever wants to see her daddy hurt like that, even if he hadn't been very involved in my life.

I tried to forget you. I tried alcohol, adrenaline, things passed on to me by shady guys with monstrous glints in their eyes. All it did was bring you closer. I started seeing your face, when I was trying to forget it. Hearing your voice. Smelling your scent. I wound up jumping off a cliff in the middle of a storm, half-willing to end it all.

Jacob pulled me out. Yet another casualty. He was in love with me, did you know that? Is that why you never wanted me to see him? God, how _horrible_ I am. I let him put me back together, knowing that I couldn't ever give him what he wanted, what he deserved. I couldn't love him again when you took my heart with you. What would I give him?

I was like a true leech – sucking the life out of everyone's eyes – hurting the people I loved, the people who just wanted to see me be happy again.

So, congratulations. With those words you set out what you meant to do. You _destroyed_ me, Edward.

I hope you're happy. I hope, I hope, I hope, with all that I am, that you're _fucking_ pleased with yourself.

Today is my last day on Earth, you know. I can't live like this anymore – I see the disappointment in Charlie's eyes every day, and I know that it would be better for him – that it would give him closure if I just ended it and was done with it. I don't know why I thought you would care…you didn't care when you abandoned me in those woods. I was lost, I almost died out there…sometimes I think that I did, in all the ways that mattered.

You took away the first loving family I'd ever had. Even Rosalie and Jasper – the ones I didn't know that much – were parts of me that you ripped away. You left me bloody, broken, and exhausted on that cold forest floor.

I was too weak to end it before. Too selfish. Too involved with myself, with _my_ life. Well, whatever semblance of a life I had left, that is.

But I've managed to muster up the courage – built it up with every look of pain I saw on a loved one's face.

I guess it just feels wrong to end it all and not to say goodbye. Because however much of a useless human toy I was to you, you were my one true, my great love. You were such a huge part of my life – and I, stupid and blind as I was, let you swallow more and more of it until you _were_ my life. You still are my life. I am still hopelessly, stupidly, blindly, in love with you.

You know how you used to tell me that you were the masochistic lion and I, the foolish lamb? I thought, in those early days after my death – your desertion – that perhaps that was the one truest statement I had ever heard. But even that was a lie, just like every time the words 'I love you' passed through those picturesque lips of yours. There was never any mention of the lion laying down with the lamb; the quotation was that '_the wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together'_. Did you ever say one true statement to me? Even by chance?

I suppose, in writing this and sending it to you, I only wish for one thing in return for all those lies and the pain and the misery you damned me to. I know that it is likely you will simply brush it off – another stupid girl stupidly thinking that you would even deign to spend more time and thoughts on her than would entertain you. Nonetheless, I am that stupid girl, and I shall stupidly request of you, my life, that you do one thing.

And that is to not forget me.

For I am, as you have reminded me, just human, and the biggest human worry is to be forgotten. It pains me to face the reality that you likely have been playing this sick game for ages and I am just the latest in a string of _distractions. _Because it wasn't cruel enough for you to just sleep with a willing body and discard her heart when you were done; no, you had to make me fall deeply, irrevocably in love with you and then laugh and leave me bleeding, my heart crushed in your hand.

Were you happy, then? Knowing I would give up my life for you a million times over, your silly little stupid human pet?

Time goes on. It does, that is true. But the one eternal is my love for you – the same love that will kill me before this even reaches you. I do love you, Edward, and I fear I always will – even after I take myself away from this world.

I'm finally going to do a selfless thing and give my _true_ family some closure. Charlie, Renee, Jacob, the Pack, Phil – they deserve better than this. So while I can forgive you for abandoning me, deserting me – was there really any doubt about it? – and I understand that I was just so stupid to ever believe I was good enough for you, I can't forgive that.

I hate that you've brought them pain, and yet I love you so much it tears at me and eats me from the inside out. Whatever I do, I can't stop loving you.

And you thought you were the masochist.

Goodbye, Edward Anthony Mason Cullen.

Forever yours,

_Isabella Swan._


	14. Chasing Cars

It still hurt. It still picked her up, slammed her relentlessly against walls full of broken glass, and chewed her up for good measure. She'd be perfectly fine, all light laughs and smiling eyes, but all of a sudden something would remind her of her family, and she'd withdraw and break down. The littlest things could trigger her, sometimes. Other times, she was as good as over it. He could understand. He'd been there. Being disowned was never a happy thing.

His own parents hadn't wanted him from the start. He'd grown used to it, had time to wade in through the shallow end. She'd gone from warm, loving, unconditional-love to cold, dark, barren wasteland in the expanse of one visit, thrown straight into the middle of the icy ocean with no warning at all.

He knew it was all his fault. He just had to be selfish and make her his girl. Her parents were very focused on image, and he didn't fit that – his rumpled clothes and unruly behavior stood out against their subdued, pastel cardigans and sweater vests like white against black. He was from the wrong side of town, hung out with the wrong crowd of friends, and his language was much too crass for their little princess. She'd fallen in love with him, through some miracle, and hated that they couldn't see past that. She'd confronted them, they'd blown up, and everything went to hell.

Having your parents, the ones who were supposed to love you unconditionally, kick you out? Hearing them spit words like _'disappointment'_ in your face, being pushed out of their doors?

No, some days she just fell apart.

Today was one of those days. Some little old lady at the nursing home she worked at gifted her with a smile. Something about that smile made her recall early summers padding after her mother, Renee, to an eclectic variety of activities. And, of course, _that _reminded her of her father's suppressed smile and twinkling eyes when he would rescue her from her mother's flights of fancy.

His eyes had been cold and distant when he'd told her in a scarily calm, rational voice to get out of their house and never come back.

She couldn't take it, and she froze. She went unresponsive, and her limp fingers dropped the tray of food she'd been offering. The bowls and plates shattered on the floor, and her boss had come screaming outside. Apparently, the pushy daughter of a resident was visiting and had been wearing the man's patience thin, so he'd fired my baby on the spot.

She came home in tears, mascara running down her face, the black tears finding themselves soaked into my shirt as I wordlessly embraced her. I knew what she needed, just like she always knew how to put up with my shit.

She was blubbering about not being able to do it – not all on her own – and making my heart pang with hurt with words about maybe splitting up being for the best. I knew she just wanted her parents' love back, wanted everything back. That didn't stop the guilt, pain, and fear from devouring me.

It hurt that she thought she was all on her own. Didn't she know, by now, that she'd always have me to be by her side? It hurt that she could even think about leaving me. Didn't it tear her up inside like the mere thought of it did me? But most of all, it hurt that I couldn't magically fix it for her. No, I couldn't give her back her family, but I could make her see that it would all be okay.

I picked her up, cradling her to my chest, allowing her to feel small, to feel vulnerable, to feel cared for and protected. We journeyed outside to the curb. I lay down so that all of my body except my head was sprawled out onto the rough, cracked, and forgotten road; she settled into my body, using it as a kind of cushion as her head rested on my shoulder.

I propped myself up somewhat, my chin coming down to rest on top of her head. I closed my eyes, calming myself, and listening to her sobs fade away into intermittent sniffles, then eventually nothing.

We breathed together, my heartbeat beating even and steady in her ear. The brilliant colors of sunset splashed across the sky, but our joined body heat kept us warm as the sun went down. Her small form, resting gently on top of mine, presented a comfortable weight that kept me grounded, kept me centered.

We stayed there, in our cocoon of peace, hoping to forget the world – everything but me and her. When she shifted to look into my eyes, tears dried and no longer falling, I smiled.

Softly, eyes straight ahead, I whispered, "We don't need anyone or anything, baby. We'll do everything on our own. We can do it, I know we can." And placed a kiss atop her head.

She looked up at me, then quickly down again. Quietly, she asked, "How?"

I tried hard to come up with an answer. Some spell of words that would heal her broken heart. After some false starts and stuttered beginnings, I gave up, and let what I was feeling pour out of my chest.

"I don't know, darling. I dunno how we're gonna survive out here in the big, bad world, and I don't even know how we're gonna pay next month's rent. All I know is when I'm lyin' here with you, I feel…I can't tell you how much I love you, baby. Those three words are said too much, and I just… they're not enough. Not even fuckin' close to enough to tell you, to describe how – when I look in your perfect eyes, I see all that I am, and all that I ever was, and they're all I can see. I need them, I need _you_. I need you, baby, I can't have you leavin' me. I need your grace to remind me to find your own, need you to cut through all my shit and help me figure things out…I'm confused 'bout 'how' too, honey, but I just know that this – my love for you – won't change. Not at all. Somehow…somehow we'll make it work. I'll make it work, 'cause it just has to. So, please, please, stay?" I cursed myself, knowing the words couldn't have possibly been good enough to make her stay and work it out. I was gonna lose her – I was gonna lose my life – because of my stupidness with words.

But when I looked down again, into those big, deep eyes, I saw tears of happiness welling up in her eyes. She laughed, just a little choked chuckle, and kissed me softly, kissed me sweetly. Then she gave me the word that made everything brighter again.

"Okay."

**AN/: So...this (a one-shot inspired by Catching Cars by Snowpatrol) was kind of requested a while back, and this is the belated result. Yeah, I'm no good with time or deadlines or...really, any sort of efficiency at all. As you can probably tell, I did not revise/edit this beyond Spellcheck. I figured I'd already put off posting it enough. Anyways, I guess this is just to say...I'm sorry you had to read this. Well, I guess you didn't, because nobody was forcing you too, but I'm kind of just assuming that you did, since you're now reading the author's note, and - sorry. Got carried away again. Another unnecessarily rambling, long-ass author's note brought to you by:**

**SGS**


	15. Keeping Promises

I don't know how long it's been.

Days, weeks, months.

Hell, even years, for all I know.

It's all just the same to me. Sitting, staring out the window, waiting…just _waiting_ here, for you. The others move around me – I hear distant rustling, creaking, and murmuring. I don't turn to see them, but I know they all glance at me with worry in their eyes. I know some of the murmuring is about me. I know, but I can't bring myself to care. Esme always comes and brings me food around what must be mealtime, and sits across from me. She talks about…whatever she talks about. I eat, but I don't look away from the panes of glass, and I don't hear what it is she's saying.

I just let time wash through me as if I were nothing more than a ghost.

I'm kind of sorry about it – after all, she's been so nice and accepting of me from the very start, and she's such a sweet, loving person – but I'll apologize later. After you come back.

_Oh, Jasper. Won't you hurry up? You must know I'm worried sick about you…we all are._

My eyes glaze over and I'm lost…swept away by all our happy memories together. Laughing together on our first date to the fair…sharing cotton candy, and cotton-candy-flavored kisses. Blushing after I closed the door that night, pressing my fingers against my lips, where your sweltering goodnight kiss still lingered. Giggling to myself, then beating myself up over behaving like some kind of fangirl.

Staying up late at night to hear your sleepy voice through the phone. Nervously meeting your folks for the first time, wiping my sweaty hands on my old skirt, trying not to make a fool of myself. Being intimidated by your twin sister's fierce beauty, but managing a crack in her tough exterior. All of the truck stops on the road to love.

The night when the weather was perfect and the stars were shining bright. The night when you brought me out to that little crick that ran through the edge of your family's property. The night when we sat content with our feet in the water, looking at the full bright moon, and shooting the shit. When you looked me in the eyes and told me you loved me. The way my heart raced right out of my chest, expanding so much I thought it would explode. Telling him I loved him right back. Making love for the first time in the damp, fresh grass.

_When you get home, Jasper, we can go out by the crick again. I promise not to go there until you get back…please hurry, Jasper. I can't wait to see you again…we still have to take our vows, remember?_

We'd gone back to the crick – our spot – that day. I remember thinking you were acting so odd…nervous. It's not like you to be nervous, not when you're always so self-assured and easy-confident. I thought maybe it was just a delayed reaction. You'd been so sure and happy, even, about going into the military. It was in your blood, you told me. Your family was an army family, and you were just proud to continue the tradition. I never really thought you'd be in any real danger…I guess I was just too stupid to think it through. To me, you were a constant – a constant that would never disappear. Sure, you'd be away, but you'd never really be gone. Your head was freshly shorn…I missed your soft honey locks, but the loss of them suited you. I remember thinking you looked so strong…and sexy, of course.

I was thinking about how to ask you about how you were feeling. I've never really been all that good with words, that was always you. So when you dropped down on one knee as soon as we got there, and looked me in the eyes with those beautiful soul-piercing baby blues, I didn't know what to say. When you asked me to be your wife and took out your grandma's ring, I could only gasp and cry. My heart was yelling 'YES!', but sometimes, we're so close and in-tune with each other I forget that you can't hear my thoughts.

I could see when you started to get unsure. You were so vulnerable and open. The crickets were chirping, and I was choking on my love for you. It was so perfect…you know me so well. The soothing sound of our crick drew the word from my mouth…just a whisper, but you heard it, and you smiled so wide, baby. You smiled like you were the luckiest man in the world, even though all you got was little old me, and it hurt my heart, I loved you so good.

It's almost like I can feel your embrace from that night…tight, strong, safe, reassuring. Your kiss, hard and thankful on my mouth. Your hands, gentle and caring, at my waist. The twinkle of that pretty, simple little ring under the full moon.

Making love in the grassy moonlight again, sending me back to the first time, when I thought I couldn't love you anymore.

If only I knew that I'd only fall in love with you again and again – more and more – each day, each moment. I don't think I'll ever love you as much as I can. Every time I think that's it – that's all a human being can love another human being – our soul proves me wrong.

Lying on your chest in the after-glow, that's when it really hit me. You could go away and never come back. You could die far, far away in some far-off war, and that would just be it. The fear gripped my throat and my heart and my gut. I burrowed myself in you more, wishing we could just meld together as one, and never be separated ever again.

That was when I made you promise, remember? I made you promise to come back.

After that, I relaxed. I wasn't scared anymore. I knew you weren't going to leave me, because you promised.

And you never break your promises.

_I knew they were lying, Jasper. Everyone…they all think you're never coming back, but I know the truth. I still have faith in you. I know you're coming back…just please, please, hurry up and show them wrong, because I miss you so much baby. I miss you so much it hurts, and now…now I'm starting to get just a little bit worried…_

More time passed. More meals from Esme. I think she's starting to pity me. Her voice – though I can't make out the words – it just sounds so sad and forlorn. After the day…after _that_ day, she insisted I move in with her. Her crying every night clawed at my heart, but I've never shed a tear after that day.

_Because I know you're coming back._

That day, I was visiting your Mama, just like you asked me to. We're good at keeping each other company, you know. I still remember…she went to go make some more iced tea, and I was waiting at the breakfast table to continue our talk. I remember smiling to myself, because she was telling me another embarrassing story I could tease you about. You and Peter really got into some weird shit when you were younger, didn't you? Of course, you two are probably still getting into shit…just in a different place, with lots of guys that all carry guns.

It was her scream that brought me back to Earth. I ran to go see what was wrong - spilling the last of the sweet iced tea all over the floor – and saw her on her knees, screaming and crying out. The bright summer sun was shining on her, the light breeze blowing at her hair and her dress, and I was so confused. Dread was building up in my stomach when I looked up and saw Peter in his uniform, with red puffy eyes. His head was bowed, he looked like he hadn't had enough sleep in way too long, and he was sniffling – he looked like hell. Next to him was the CAO, who looked grim and emotionless… still giving he last of his rehearsed speech.

The world blurred. The universe disappeared. Nothing made sense. I didn't know up from down, left from right, I was drowning in air.

I remember whispering, "No…no, this can't be true! It can't be! NO!"

Apparently, I started screaming and bawling nonsensically after that. They had to restrain me, because I started beating on the Casualty Assistance Officer's chest, screeching that it wasn't true.

Not one of my finest moments. I'm glad you didn't have to see me like that.

After that, I was numb. I was there when Rosalie got the news – she just stared brokenly at us, then collapsed into Emmett's arms. I was there when Mama Esme cried up to Carlisle in Heaven. I comforted them both, but I wasn't really in the moment. I was in the past, hearing you swear to me you'd come back.

I kept my end of the bargain up. Those first three weeks, I took care of your family. Their tears soaked into my clothes and straight through into my heart, where they turned to daggers and pierced it time after time. Their screams, their rage, their anger, their hurt, it filled me so that I was only a vessel to their grief. Myself? I was still numb. Empty. My thoughts were just a continuous buzz of nothing. I was on autopilot as I patted their backs, hugged them tight, and shushed them with words of comfort.

You always did say that my natural instinct was to take care of others.

Slowly, they started healing. If there's something we can be sure of, it's that your Mama and your sister are strong and tough. They still miss you – Rosalie still goes crazy sometimes, screaming your name in Emmett's arms – but they picked themselves back up.

I really didn't know what to do, then. My only function had been taking care of them, but now they didn't need that anymore. I just slowly shrank in on myself, and then one day…one day, I decided to sit down by this window and see if that was the day you'd come back. I always knew it wasn't true, Jasper. I knew you were coming back. After all, you promised.

And you always keep your promises.

I guess I just kept on waiting here. Watching that beautiful path up to the house. Bated breath, just anxiously awaiting your return.

_Aren't you coming home soon, Jasper?_

A door slams. I'm jerked out of my mind and brought close to the surface, close to reality. It is the loudest sound - the angriest sound - that has rung through this house since that day. Dimly, I hear Rosalie's frustrated voice…she must be close to me. I don't look around. I've sat so still that if I turn my head, it might just fall right off. The image of my head rolling around on the floor brings the tiniest ghost of a smile to my face. It's miniscule, probably not even visible to the outside world – but it still feels strange and foreign for my facial muscles to move that way, as if they've rusted into place.

The pain of a freshly manicured hand digging into my shoulder is a rude awakening, sinking its sharp nails into my heart and yanking it, along with the rest of me, through the barrier into reality. The sounds are too loud; the sights and smells are too sharp – I'm disoriented and have to take a minute to adjust.

When I do, I realize I've been turned around – by force – and Rosalie's face is looming large into view. She's so close I practically have to cross my eyes, and her minty fresh breath is washing over my face. Her perfume is soft, with vanilla undertones, and it makes my heart spasm because I know you gave it to her for her birthday.

"Bella, I am _so_ sick of your _shit_! I get it! You miss him – we _all_ miss him, but you been pretty much _catatonic_ for months now! That ain't no way to live, he wouldn't have _wanted_ you to live this way, and frankly, I think you're just bein' selfish! Sittin' here, all day every day, day in, day out, waiting on someone that's not comin' back. Don't you get how sick outta our minds we've been, worrying 'bout your sorry ass? Don't you get that it breaks Esme's heart having that constant reminder that her _son_ – _my_ baby _brother_ – ain't ever coming home again? We've known him all his life, and I get it, you were in love with him, but if _we_ can get back to functional, do you really think _you_ have the goddamned right to stop living?" My already-there guilt amplifies a million times and I can't bring myself to meet her eyes – and not just because they look too close to yours.

She leans back out of my personal bubble, crosses her arms, and glares at me like she's waiting for me to reply. I don't have excuses, I know that abandoning my life isn't the right thing to do – even if it's just because I'm waiting for you to come back. I'm even a little touched, because I know this is Rose's way of trying to get me back to the real world.

But mostly, I'm hurting. I'm hurting so bad it's like I'm burning from the inside out – my abused heart flailing and protesting heavily against her words.

_It can't be. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she _get _it? Why won't anyone believe that you're coming back, Jasper? You've been away too long, and now they all believe those lies, and why won't you just come back, baby, I'm dying without you, I can't do this!_

"He…he's coming back," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. My voice is hoarse and weak from disuse, and it sounds pathetic to even my ears, but I keep on saying it. "He is, I know it! I _know_ he is." It's sad, but that's really the only thing I can say.

_I wish you were here, Jasper. You would know what to say. Why aren't you _here_ already, Jasper?_

She huffs. She takes a deep, long-suffering sigh – in through the nose, out through the mouth – and I can almost see her trying to gather her patience around her.

But then she looks at me, and she must see the desperation on my face, because she sits down carefully on my armrest and her expression softens.

"I thought he was, too, Bella. But you have to know he isn't. He can't. He's – he's dead, and he's gone, and he isn't coming back." I'm shaking my head already before she's even finished.

She doesn't know – they all don't. They're all wrong. They have to be. He _promised, _don't they get that? He _promised me._

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no! He's coming back! I know it, he _has_ to be!" My voice is stronger now, fueled by blind panic, and I'm tearing at my hair and I can't – I can't….

I run for the door. Nobody stops me. I think they're too surprised to stop me. My limbs feel strange, like I'm in someone else's body, but I don't let that stop me. I pump my legs and run wildly, without a destination in mind, but somehow…somehow I end up at our little crick.

My mouth continues my argument without my permission. "…He _promised_," it whispers brokenly, and I'm looking around at our special spot – where we made love for the first time, where you proposed to me, where we spent warm and lazy afternoons laughing and kissing – and it's cold, and it's dark, and it's…it's not the same without you here.

"You PROMISED!" I shout, and at some point tears started flowing, and at some point I fell to my knees, and at some point I closed my eyes and buried my face in my fists. I'm full-on sobbing and I don't know when the fuck it happened.

_They weren't lying, were they, Jasper? They weren't lying, they weren't, and oh my God, you can't be! You just can't be dead, baby, didn't you promise me? Didn't you? You PROMISED me, and so why the hell aren't you here with me now? You aren't ever going to be with me again, are you, Jasper? Why aren't you __**home**_, _baby, why?_

I thought my heart was already shredded, but it was sending itself through the graters again, and I could feel every molecule in my body screaming out for you, and at some point I'd gone from kneeling to lying on the cold, damp grass. Curled up in a fetal position trying to hold myself together.

I was crying, screaming, shaking, and sobbing, and I didn't care that my tears were staining my clothes or that my nose was running disgustingly all over the grass. I didn't care that it was cold, or that I was probably going to catch hypothermia.

The first time I met you, you said that you were sorry. That confused and intrigued me so much back then…I had just laid eyes on you for the first time, what did you possibly have to be sorry for? Was it because you knew this day would come, Jasper? Did you know you'd leave me and never come back while you were just trying to do the right thing?

I don't know when…but sometime I fell asleep, shivering, my worn out mind dreaming up your warm body next to mine. It's funny…that grass felt a hell of a lot softer and more comfortable when I was here with you.

_You broke your promise, Jasper…but then, I guess I just broke mine. I'm sorry I came here without you, Jasper. I shouldn't have. You _are _coming back eventually, aren't you, Jasper?_

The early rising sun caught the twinkle of your ring and I held it close to my face. The twinkle…it reminded me of your eyes when you would smile at me. Usually after I'd done something like trip over air…again. My heart patched itself up again, and my breathing evened out. The hint of a smile played on my lips.

_Of course you're coming back. How could you not be? I'm so sorry I believed them – doubted you. They almost got to me, but I know you're on your way home. You promised, after all…_

…_And you never break your promises._


End file.
